


Parisstuck

by Goldenswallowtail



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Courtroom Drama, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lies, M/M, Murder, Romance, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenswallowtail/pseuds/Goldenswallowtail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Homestuck AU based in Paris, with plenty of thrilling tales to tell. This city sets a stage for dramatic events that slowly unfold. Remember, it can only go deeper from here! Explicit due to sex, potential violence. Trigger warnings for depression/cutting, and beatings/violence. Various pairings, which will be added to the tag as they appear in the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of Something Really Excellent

Parisstuck

The Beginning of Something Really Excellent

==>BE THE ILLUSTRATOR

Your name is Nepeta Leijon. You are a young and vibrant girl living in Paris, working as an ILLUSTRATOR. It is an absolutely enthralling job! You get to draw VIBRANT SCENES of all your favorite NOVELS—especially those of ROMANTIC AFFAIRS. You find the interactions of two destined lovers to quite possibly be the most interesting things that ever could be read.

Along with your line of work, you are absolutely obsessed with, well, PEOPLE! Their LIVES AND TRAVELS are always so interesting to you. It's like reading a unique book every time, and there are never any clichés; the experiences are always original. It offers great inspiration for your ILLUSTRATIONS!

Speaking of all of this reading that you do, it just so happens that you have finished your picture for the day! With a final stroke of your pencil, the work is complete, and you are now free to enjoy your day as you so please! Stowing away your pencils in the cup they can call home, you hop from your seat and towards the door, swinging it open and stepping outside, locking the door behind you.

You happen to live near the inner city—and though there's plenty of trash around, not to mention tourists, you honestly don't mind! It's actually bustling with plenty of people who are fun to talk to and just to listen to, sometimes! You make it a point to always find someone truly interesting on your daily walk.

As you head out, you can feel your dress flutter a bit from the warm spring breeze. The sun is rather bright today, you note, and there's not a cloud in the sky. Heading onwards, you take your usual twists and turns towards the Champ de Mars, where the thickest crowds can most certainly be found.

Upon reaching it, you are greeted with the usual sights and sounds: the chatter of tourists, the occasional laughter from an entertaining crowd, and the gasps of awe at the visible tower. Going along your merry way, something unfamiliar catches your ear. Every so often, yes, it certainly came along, but not like this! It was that sweet, sweet sound of strings. The wooden instrument that narrated the mood of nearly every love story!

Hearing the sounds of a wonderful violin, your feet pivot on their own, headed towards the music that floated through the air. Each vibration of the strings was like a dream of its own coming into the world. You carefully step through the crowd, listening to the violinist. As you make your way to the front, you get a nice, long look at him.

Wispy ginger hair, all brushed into strange waves and ways, and a long-sleeve shirt that nearly impaired his playing. He has a red and black color scheme, you note, complete with the black dress pants he's wearing. His face looked to accentuate the dark colors with its focused expression, almost as if he was angry at the violin. Nonetheless, each and every note fell into place neatly and orderly.

Distracted by him for a moment, this musician of extraordinary skill, you decide to pick up one of the posters he has lying around him. It appears there will be a show tonight which he will be participating in! You'll have to find out who he is then, you suppose. You can guess he isn't 'Rox E., though!

Now ensnared by the wonderful sounds this freckled redhead is making, you decide to take a seat, waiting for him to finish.

==>NEPETA: BE THE VIOLINIST

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and quite frankly, you are getting tired of playing this VIOLIN. Yes, sure, it was your dream—that's why you came to Paris. You planned to follow in the footsteps of the ever mysterious FAMOUS VIOLINIST.

==>KARKAT: BE FAMOUS VIOLINIST

You buffoon! It doesn't just work that way. You need to practice, practice, practice, not to mention put on a show. This show may be like the one you are performing at tonight, which is at the ever-luxurious and incredibly fancy MOULIN ROUGE and HOLY SHIT that place is fancy.

It just so happens that you've managed to get an act there—your talent isn't very well-known, but those who have seen your performances know that Karkat Vantas will be the name passing everyone's lips when the violin-based apocalypse comes, or at least that of the FAMOUS VIOLINIST. And if not, the world will suffer a terrible, terrible hollow-wood fate.

As you finish the last notes of the piece you were performing, you lighten up on your TRUSTY BOW. The resulting sound wavers in the air, there and yet fading, the note like a dream in limbo. As it exits the air, the crowd bursts into applause. You try not to smile and give your bows. The flyers by your feet begin to get snatched away. A girl next to you seems to have already taken quite the interest before you stopped playing—perhaps you'll see her tonight. As a matter of fact, she looks rather fancy. Enough that she could probably attend, what with her flowing green dress and her strange blue headpiece, and—

"THAT. Was amazing, brother."

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and suddenly, you are not as comfortable as you were before. You slowly turn around, putting your violin into rest position. There is a street performer grabbing your shoulder. His hair is rather messy and you find yourself wondering when the last time this man bathed was. By the looks of his white makeup and small accents of color here and there, you assume he is a clown.

"…Yeah, thanks. Get off of me." You were never one to beat around the bush, really. It was always straight to the point.

"No, brother, seriously that was…some amaaazing shit right there." The performer moves his hands to accentuate the 'amazingness' taking place. You will not lie, you are kind of scared. You pack up your violin case and walk away—damnit, what? He's still following you. Shit, shit shit—

==>KARKAT: BE THE BAKER

Your name is TAVROS NITRAM. You are a BAKER of many SWEETS and PASTRIES in your store, NITRAM SWEETS. Although you cannot navigate your small kitchen with ease due to an ACCIDENT that caused you to lose the ability to walk, you still enjoy serving your many customers the treats you get up early to bake every morning.

Your store is in a constant but healthy struggle with a candy store across the way, owned by a SOUR CONFECTIONER. She is rather scary sometimes, yes, but you can't help but like her just a bit. She helps out sometimes when you've got the SNIFFLES and whanot.

You wheel around your kitchen, stoves lining one wall, lines of baked goods on nearly every other. You make sure that each one of those little pastries is baked with a good cup or two of LOVE. That's right. After all, they'd taste sour otherwise! As you're admiring your handiwork, the bell attached to your door rings. You have a customer!

You raise your head, and then your hand, a smile spreading across your face.

"Oh, hey, Nepeta!" You wave enthusiastically to your all-too-familiar customer. "The usual?"

"Oh, of course!" You assume she didn't come here for sweets by the surprised look on her face. She must be here for some other reasons. "I just saw the most amazing violin player—and he looked so…so…"

"Cute?" You suggest, teasing her as you box up her favorite cake and ring up the usual four Euros for her.

"Yes, yes, that's it!" You didn't expect to be correct on that one, honestly. "And he's playing at the Moulin Rouge tonight—I'd feel a bit strange going alone, so I wanted to ask if you'd come!"

You're completely flattered. Not many people invite the guy in a wheelchair to special events. However, you now remember why: because it's relatively hard to get into places, and because the guy in the wheelchair has an important job to do.

"Sorry, Nepeta, I…well, I, uh, kind of have to get up early tomorrow. I can't afford to get up late, otherwise I'll be serving yesterday's stale stuff—and that's never very good." You shake your head. "Sorry…" You feel like you let her down—after all, you're probably the only one who would come on such short notice.

"Ah, no, no, it's alright! I'll go alone, be just fine." She leans over the counter to hug you and stroke your dark brown hair for a moment. She always liked affectionate gestures like that. Handing over the money, she grabs the box and backs off, waving. "I'll see you around, alright, Tavros?"

"Of course!" You call back. Hopefully something will happen on an off day. But until then, you're stuck behind this counter, you guess. It's not all bad. It could be worse.

==>TAVROS: BE THE GUY WHO HAS IT WORSE

You bust through the door of some fancy looking little bakery and duck below the window line. You can hear someone dash past and a horn honk nearby, then the voice of someone yelling 'brother'. You sigh as the noise fades.

It is only then you notice the poor store owner staring at you from behind the counter.

"Can I…uh, help you, uh, sir…?" He seems rather nervous, which is understandable. He has something of a mohawk, although it isn't spiked up. You think it looks a bit nicer than if it was, actually. However, you still find the whole 'mohawk guy being nervous' thing a bit funny, so you stifle a laugh before regaining your manners.

"Yeah, this is a bakery, right?" You look around at the sweets on every wall. God, some of these are fucking sickening—holy shit, how much fucking sugar went into that one? Is that a fucking maraschino cherry? Wait, no, you kind of like those, but it's sprinkled with sugar? Oh god, your stomach. "Just…" Your stomach grumbles a bit, and you look down. Maybe this would be good for desert, but it's just about lunchtime. "Just give me some sugar cookies or some shit. Two."

You hear the clerk behind the desk rustle for the cookies, and you get out your money. Approaching the counter, you look up, and for a moment, the clerk stops, and just stares at you with his huge chocolate brown eyes, and you quirk a brow.

"What?"

As soon as you say this, he mumbles a sorry, his face tinting a bit pink as he scrapes together your order again, handing you your change and giving you the food. You sigh, turning around, done with this place for now—you just want to get back home. You're almost out the door, when—

"Hey…you're playing at…uh…the Moulin Rouge tonight, right? You're that violinist." He still seems shaken up from your entrance.

"Yeah, I am. Hoo-ray." You say, just wanting to go take a nap before you have to prepare. You step outside the door, the bell ringing behind you. You still feel his eyes on your back, and you have the strangest feeling he'll be there now.

==>KARKAT: ENJOY CAKE

What? That's absolutely absurd. You don't have any cake. Nepeta does, though.

==>KARKAT: BE NEPETA

You've just gotten home, and the sun is beginning to tip towards the western skies, so you make quick work of your dessert. You clean up quite neatly and throw the box away in a very space-conscious manner, crushing the box flat. Immediately upon discarding your litter, you race to your CLOSET to see what in the world you'll wear tonight.

You see dresses of all sorts and types—but not one that is quite FANCY enough. You narrow your eyes—the smell of fashion adventure is in the air. All residents of this fine city know what trip must be taken when one has nothing to wear.

At least, you do.

You find yourself outside the door of MERRY MARYAM'S, a favorite place to go. The owner there, Kanaya Maryam, can whip up a dress in an hour or two with tact and style. Not only that, but she also has plenty of novels to recommend and has plenty of gardening tips as well! Stepping inside, a fancy little electronic chime goes off.

"Oh? Who's there?" The constant whirring of a sewing machine slows to a halt, and you step forward, waving to Kanaya, who is situated in the back. "Oh, Nepeta, it's been so long!" She races up to you, kissing both of your cheeks rather forcefully. You giggle a bit, shoving her away playfully.

"Stop, stop!" You try to regain your composure. "Well I would hope your other dresses would last for a while—seeing a customer again is usually a bit bad, isn't it?" You and she both exchange a girlish giggle. "Okay, but anyways, in all seriousness, I need a dress for tonight! And not just anything, something…fancy, but not too much glamour. Maybe something simple, but…elegant, I guess?"

"Yes, yes, I understand entirely." She mumbles to herself, furrowing her brow. She always got like this when she was concentrating. "Let's see…black? Yes, always a good color for fancy." She turns to you, expression unchanged. "Occasion?"

"I'm going to the Moulin Rouge for dinner and a show. No date, no date. Don't need to worry about impressing a partner!" You have a feeling Kanaya would try to…accentuate some features for a male suitor.

"Oh, yes, yes, I see it—it's all coming together very well." She closes her eyes, and runs to grab a piece of paper. You stand there for a few moments, watching her as she comes back, drawing furiously. You know to be patient with her. Genius must not be rushed. "Here!" She exclaims, smiling, and points at the paper. "Does this seem suitable?"

You look at the paper—it's a mess of notes and scribbles, but you trust her so much, you say it.

"Yes, of course!" You know she'll get it right. "Thank you so much—I'll pay for it when I see it, right?"

"Of course, of course—if you'll excuse me, I need to get started. There are a lot of orders for tonight that I need to get done quickly." She doesn't mean to shoo you out, but you know it's for the best. Stepping outside, you give a wave back to her and blow a playful kiss. She catches it and pockets it mockingly. Again, you both giggle, and you head back home.

==>NEPETA: BE THE FASHION DESIGNER.

Your name is KANAYA MARYAM. You are a FASHION DESIGNER, SEAMSTRESS, and some even refer to you as a MIRACLE WORKER. You can grow perfect plants, sew perfect outfits, and most importantly, help perfect people. You are the owner of a dress shop called MERRY MARYAM'S, a clever little name you thought of when you moved here.

You aspire to be a renowned FASHION DESIGNER, using your friends as MODELS to test your work on various body types. Hopefully, you'll make it someday soon. But for today, you're going to take it easy by seeing a show tonight, namely the one Nepeta is also attending. After you finish these dresses, that is. You have Nepeta's dress all planned out, but orders from others are still waiting to be filled.

Sitting down, you begin to sew furiously, but pause a split second when there is a knock on the window. There's a knock three times, then four. You smile gently, and beckon her in, making a motion with your hand.

A young Asian woman walks in, many books in hand, and as she does so, she flips the sign from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED'. She smiles and rushes to sit next to you.

"Oh, Kanaya, you'll never guess what I learned today!"

"Go on, Aradia, you've caught my interest."

You have a feeling this will be a most pleasant evening.


	2. Serenade

Serenade

==>NEPETA: ARRIVE

Your name is NEPETA LEIJON, and you'll be damned if you don't look fabulous tonight. You'd dashed to Merry Maryam's an hour before the show opened, knocking on the door since the shop was closed. Peeking inside, you saw a MYSTERIOUS YOUNG LADY, along with your favorite seamstress. Kanaya quickly gave you your dress, all neat in its little plastic cover. She seemed eager to get back to the girl, leaving you with a wave—you didn't mind, you knew she was busy.

Having gone home to change, you admired yourself in the mirror for a short time. Kanaya always knew what she was doing. She'd given you a black dress that almost looked like a child's. It was perfectly suitable to your figure and style, however. The skirt's a bit fluffy underneath and has your symbol embroidered onto it in green. It's a Leo symbol, which you always put somewhere in the final illustration of a book, just to leave your mark. In addition, she gave you a red kerchief to put around your neck. You'll be honest; it goes very well with the rest of the outfit.

Feeling fine and fancy-free, you went right to the Moulin Rouge, and you feel the need to emphasize that it's PRETTY DAMN FANCY. After a bit of waiting, you're lead to your seat. You're glad—it was getting a bit cold outside, not to mention it was already dark. Sitting down at your one-person table, you take a moment to look around.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, and they all look very eager for the show to start. There are a lot of waiters going around, taking orders and delivering food. You didn't notice until now, but you really are hungry. Maybe in a bit.

Looking up at the stage, you notice it's a strange shape. It curves out on either side, which is relatively normal, but there's a square-shaped protrusion in the center. You suppose it's for smaller acts, such as that violinist you came to see! As you admire your surroundings, you're suddenly surprised by a familiar voice from behind!

"Pardon me, Miss, but can I get you anything for tonight's showing?"

The waiter standing behind you is a good friend of yours, Equius Zahhak. You see him around constantly when you're dining. He's an aspiring writer and needs some way to pay his student loans and make a living, so he works as a waiter in many different restaurants.

"Well hello, Equius, nice to see you too!" You twirl around in your chair to face him.

"My apologies. Good evening, Nepeta."

"I didn't know you worked here!"

"Is that not the same reaction that you give every time you see me somewhere?"

You pause for a moment.

"…Yes…I…I guess you're right, hehe!"

"Again, I must ask if you would like anything tonight. After all, we are rather busy, and I have other tables to attend to."

Your eyes quickly skim the menu which you haven't bothered to touch. You quickly locate the fish section and point to a name that you can't pronounce which seems especially appetizing.

"This one! The salmon…de…something or other!" You giggle aloud. Equius does not seem as amused but nods.

"Right away."

As he walks off, you begin to feel just the slightest bit lonely. Oh well. You've got a whole row of performers to take your mind off of it!

==>NEPETA: BE A PERFORMER

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and you feel inexplicably nervous, and the douche-bag you're talking to isn't helping.

"What if they start throwing tomatoes—are they serving those tonight?"

"Seriously, just shut the fuck up already."

You are currently talking to another performer, one who does not look as fancy as he should, and has stated several times that he's performing here 'ironically'. However, this doesn't make him any less of a douche bag.

"Guuuuys…" A moan comes from your right. A blonde girl steps forward, a glass of wine in her hands. She's a bit tipsy, that's for sure, but she looks like she can keep herself together. "Don't start fightin'…"

"Yeah, listen to her, asshole." You simultaneously try to help and aggravate him. He just leans back against the wall pushing his sunglasses up against his face as he goes silent. At least he respects the ladies.

"Guys." She leans down—tall one, she is. "Listen to me, okay? Tonight…is a big, big night…for all a us." Oh god, she's going to ramble. "And even though I know you two can't…get along a lot…just try and stay calm, m'kay? You can fight when it's aaall over." She nods as the both of you stay quiet. A sudden voice calls for the opening act.

"…We now present: Rox E.!"

The girl next to you gasps, putting her glass down. She starts to move towards the curtain, but you whisper to her.

"Hey!"

She turns around.

"…Good luck."

Nodding, she moves out onto the stage, as something of a jazz tune starts. You have no idea who she is, but at least she seems nice enough. You stand in silence as you listen to her.

"Shadows are deep, endless…Being in one—bad as it sounds…The dark, the cold, the loneliness…alone, senseless…why…why can't you pull me out of this Hell?"

You're not sure you understand what at all she means. However, her voice is crystal clear, and every bit of you can feel her pain. You slip into a euphoric state, between consciousness and sleep as you listen. Images and words spin around in your mind's eyes before the trance is broken. Her act is over. She walks off stage, past you and the other performer, covering her eyes. You assume she's crying, and debate going to comfort her. However, the announcer speaks again.

"A master of the strings—Karkat Vantas!"

Your chest clenches. You start to shake just a bit, leg wobbling as you step forth, violin and bow in hand. Before you go on, someone grabs your shoulder. It's the other performer. You're about to scowl, ready to curse him out—

"…You'll do great, li'l man." He pats your shoulder one more time—you feel a bit better, that's for sure. As you get on stage, you look out to the crowd, who gives a small round of applause. You can't see anyone very clearly, in all honesty. Your eyes can pick out a couple people. Your eyes shift to the front-most rows—the bakery guy from earlier really is there, you notice. Noticing you've been standing there without doing anything, you take your violin and put it into position, raising your bow. Gently, you begin to play.

==>KARKAT: BE THE SINGING GIRL

Your name is ROXY LALONDE and you have just finished your ORIGINAL PERFORMANCE. You are currently CRYING YOUR EYES OUT and hating EVERY MOMENT OF IT. You always get like this whenever you sing, and you have a feeling you know why, but you most definitely don't want to admit it.

Every one of your songs is about being under-appreciated and mostly the question of why that's so. Not to mention to constant and blatant cries for help. However, it seems that nobody can hear you, or maybe they don't want to listen.

You're on your way home, wiping your eyes with your feather boa, getting your mascara all over the pink feathers. Dammit. You'll just have to wash it again.

Entering inside, you look at all of the walls, covered in awards and pieces of paper saying how amazing SHE is.

Not you, it's her.

It's always been her—that's why every one of your songs is screaming: "Appreciate me, love ME." You've been living in her damned shadow ever since you've been born and you're so damned tired of it. But you can't do anything about it but sing and sing until your throat gives out.

You haul yourself upstairs, quietly sobbing as you sit down as your computer, grabbing the bottle of wine that you left there last night and opening pesterchum. You need someone to talk to so, so badly.

==>ROXY: BE THE VIOLINIST AGAIN

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you've just finished your performance. The crowd goes wild for you, clapping and whistles all around. Lowering your violin, you take a few bows. Someone from the audience tosses a few roses, one of which you catch. Carefully, you survey the audience again, and spot the baker from earlier. You give him a wink and toss the rose down to him, confusing him greatly.

Satisfied with your act and your screwing with people for tonight, you head offstage, nonchalantly giving the next guy a high-five. God, you feel so good right now. You look around for that Rox E. girl, wondering where she might have gone. You look around, ears open for any sobbing, when suddenly, you spot something pink. You go towards it, thinking it might be her, but no, it's a binder.

Inside, you find, is a list of songs, each with their own page in the binder. She's organized and seems to know what she's doing. As you look over the first page, writing on the inside of the cover catches your eye.

"…TipsyGnostalgic." You whisper to yourself. This looks like a pesterchum handle. Everyone has one, including you. Maybe you'll chat her up later, see what was wrong.

Maybe.

==>KARKAT: BE THE ADMIRING GIRL

Your name is NEPETA LEIJON, and you're not sure what's wrong with you right now. Your salmon is barely touched, your fork is moving around it, and your stomach feels a bit strange. You're in a bit of a trance, not even saying thank you when a random waiter fills your water glass. It's only broken when Kanaya sits down next to you, accompanied by the girl she had been talking to earlier.

"That was absolutely fascinating, was it not?" She grins widely, her dress just as fancy as your clothing. The other girl seems dressed appropriately as well, so Kanaya probably planned to take her along.

"Oh, yes, yes, it was…" You can't find a word for it, so you default to, "amazing."

"Are you alright?" The other girl asks, rather quietly. "You seem very…" She pauses, "strange…" She blushes, probably having chosen the wrong word.

"No, no, I'm…fine, I'm fine. Just a little out of it right now." You glance up at the stage, nobody seems to be coming on. You suppose it's intermission already. You take a drink of your water. "Kanaya, who's this? I've been seeing a lot of her."

"Ah, right. My apologies. This is Miss Megido, historian and one of my best friends."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Leijon." She extends a hand nervously. You shake it gently before she takes it back. "I don't mean to be rude, Miss, but I think we should get back to our table before it is taken."

"Right, right. See you around, Nepeta." She leans forward, kissing your cheek again before she's led away by Miss Megido to their table. You resume your awkward feelings and actions, not even paying attention to the next act that comes on stage. You've never heard of a Dave Strider anyways.

 

==>NEPETA: BE THE GUY YOU NEVER HEARD OF.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and the night is finally over. You got some applause for your act, but not as much as you hoped. You guess some guys don't appreciate a singing comedian at their fancy restaurants. You'll admit it wasn't your best, but it was good. They have poor taste in humor, that's all.

As you trek home, it's a lovely two in the morning. The stars aren't very visible due to the light pollution, but at least you can see down your street. It's a bit chilly, but you don't mind. Your house will be warmer anyways.

You unlock your door, stepping inside, only to hear the quiet clanks of someone trying to be secretive about building something at this hour. In addition, you hear the oven timer going off, like someone was baking.

Goddamn these kids.

You first step into the kitchen, where you see a short girl, rather plump and cheery. She smiles up at you.

"Jane, what in the hell are you doing baking this late?"

"Figured you'd want something when you got home, right? Can't deny ya like my sweets." She offers you a smile. Goddamn this girl, she knows how you work. From the southern accent to the sweet tooth, she's more like you than you're comfortable to admit.

This is considerably strange, because she's not even your's—this girl is the daughter of JOHN EGBERT, the other half of your comedic duo and quite the prankster. When you both decided to move out of the states, you moved in together in Paris for financial reasons—though you actually both have enough money to move out now.

You give Jane a thumbs up before proceeding out to the garage, where YOUR kid is working, rather noisily, too. He's pretty bad at covering up the sound, you noticed.

"…Dirk. It's two in the morning."

"The night is young." He responds, not even pausing. Now this is your kid—snippy and with quite a bit of sass in him. Sometimes you're not sure whether you like the fact that you got custody of him in the divorce—aw fuck, who are you kidding? You love this little brat.

"Just go to bed, you're going to want to do something tomorrow and then you'll whine to me about how you're tired and then whine to your friends and then end up falling asleep halfway through whatever you're doing."

"Alright, alright, jeeze." He stands up, brushing himself off, and running a hand through his hair, which is perfect as ever. How the fuck he manages that, you'll never know. Done with your parenting for the night, you head upstairs to your room. Well, not your room. You and John share one. Because it's not gay as long as you don't touch each other, right?

Your ironic impulses have made you purchase a single bed for this room, too. After all, why not make the whole situation look gay as possible, and then it turns out that you're both straight? How about that. Besides, you don't think you could live in the same house if John was gay. Nothing personal, you just…wouldn't like it. At all.

Your ironic impulses on your mind, you quietly change into your nightclothes, which consist of your underwear and an oversized shirt with a purple moon on it. You slip into bed next to John and put your sunglasses on the nightstand, drifting off to sleep—

You could have sworn you just saw someone in your doorway. But there was no trace of anyone, not even a gust of wind. You wave it off as some kind of two in the morning hallucination, and drift off to sleep.

==>DAVE: BE YOUR KID.

You hold your breath as you creep away from your Dad's door, going downstairs. The scent of brownies still fills the air, as Jane is still working in the kitchen. Being quiet as possible, you peer through the doorway. You catch her attention, and then proceed to flash hand signals at her.

You point to yourself with one finger, then to the window with two. You point upstairs to your dads' room, then to your room and make an x with your fingers. You lay your palm flat, the tips outstretched to her, and point at yourself again, then put a hand over your stomach. You could talk, sure, but you can't risk this being heard.

[I'm going out. Tell them they can't come into my room because I'm not feeling well.] You developed this system with Jane a long time ago and have been using it to communicate ever since, especially to get out and do things you're not supposed to.

Jane responds with a smile, giving you a thumbs up. She points at you, then both of her eyes, and proceeds to make a walking motion with two fingers. She taps her head with both hands and then wiggles her eyebrows, ending with a shrugging motion.

[Are you going to see that skull guy?] Her eyebrow wiggle made it sound suggestive and gossip-y. You don't blush though, instead thrusting the air once before leaving. You can hear her stifling a giggle. Slowly going up to your room, quiet as can be, you open up your laptop to send a message to him, and then close it, and you're on your way.

God, you hope you don't get caught.


	3. Moonsetter

Moonsetter

==>DIRK: MESSAGE THE SKULL GUY

You're trying your hardest to get in touch with him, but all efforts seem to prove futile. Perhaps he already left for your rendezvous point. Even Paris has its dead zones, you suppose. Not wanting to waste any more time, you crack open your window even further. It's a two story drop, but you planned this since you came here. You begged your dad, as a kid, to be able to plant a tree. You then put it right outside your window; it was perfect for getting up and down.

Skillfully, you drop out of your room onto a thick, sturdy branch, from which you jump down to the lawn below. As you pass the kitchen, you go to wave to Jane, but she's looking into her batter bowl, unresponsive. You wonder why she's been like this so much. The moods, at first, were occasional, but then they developed into something much more...frightening. There have been times when Jane completely...stopped. Even during dinner time, it was if she had frozen still, like a VCR tape put on pause.

You'll talk to her later.

Moving on, past the frozen girl you might as well consider a sister, you exit the yard, ducking under the living room window. You then proceed to take out your phone, and a dozen tiny screens flicker to life on it. Cameras. Every inch of the house (save for the bathrooms and everyone else's bedrooms) can be monitored from you, right here. Your Dad's bedroom door is still open a crack, Jane has moved, it seems, and is heading up the stairs to either her bedroom or the bathroom. God, you love technology. You can't believe nobody's noticed, though.

Moving out, you take the alleyways, as you can't afford anyone seeing you this late at night. Despite your best efforts to remain hidden, you round a corner, and run smack dab into some guy, who, although you can't see, you can tell he's pretty angry about it. Your phone clatters to the ground, unharmed, and you hear something else fall out of his hands.

"Watch where the fuck you're going!" He hisses at you, before trudging on. He picks up what looks to be a violin bow, and keeps walking on. You get your phone again, although the drop has gotten the cameras rather shaky-the signal will probably need to adjust itself, it's like shaking a DVD player. It'll skip for a while, and hopefully stop after that. Ignoring that, you head onwards. It's now three in the morning, and you have about three hours until the sun rises.

You just hope he gets there in time.

==>DIRK: BE 'HIM'

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH and you'll be damned if you don't hate TALL GRASS. You live on the OUTSKIRTS OF PARIS and you're taking what you consider to be AN ADVENTUROUS SHORTCUT through the park. Goddamnit, you'd be so much more inclined to these meetings if you didn't have to go through CHLOROPHYLL-BASED HELLS TO GET THERE.

Coming across a gap in the gate, you slip out of the park, onto what seems to be a main street. The busses aren't running this early, but you've heard they start as early as 5:40, so hopefully you can catch one back. Heading into the deeper parts of the city, you keep your eyes open for a shop called the 'SOUR SERKET'. She is apparently a very good friend of Dirk's dad-damnit, you mean Mister Egbert. You can't help but think 'Dad' is fitting.

Anyhow, you'd heard that the owner of the shop, whose name you presume to be Miss Serket, had quite the affair with Mister Egbert. As a matter of fact, you heard they were once engaged, and had the wedding planned. However, Miss Serket broke it off for some reason, moving out from the house and starting up her own business. It has been rather rocky since then, but Dirk has told you it's better as of late.

Passing several blocks, you check your phone. Dirk has sent you a few messages, but they're all just asking if you're still there. Goddamn this internet, it doesn't do you any bloody good sometimes. It's now 3:30 in the morning and you've only just made it to Merry Maryam's, which you remember is a good block or two from here, right across from Nitram Sweets. You see someone exit the door in front of you, a very familiar figure whose name you never bothered to learn. You see her often when you are out with your mother at the library, but she passes by you without a word. She does the same now, leaving you be. You can still see the seamstress inside the store hard at work. You walk right on.

You eventually arrive at the Sour Serket. You knock eight times, in a very steady fashion. The door opens, revealing a black-haired girl with glasses. She seems tired, you note, but she's dressed to go out. Blinking her eyes behind her glasses, she looks down, smiling and patting your head without a word. She's always like this whenever Dirk is around. You dread the memories of when you came earlier than he did. It was terrible. Silently, she walks out of the door, off into the darkened streets, saying,

"Your friend's upstairs."

You slip inside, locking the door behind you, and slipping off your shoes as is the usual whenever you meet with Dirk here. This has been going on for a couple months, now. Your mother has most certainly noticed, you're sure, but has made no comment. You guess she just had the same taste for adventure in her childhood. Dirk, on the other hand, has expressed his utmost paranoia about the situation. He's always checking his cameras halfway through his conversations. He tends to be able to hold one well, though, so it hasn't bothered you much.

You walk upstairs, through the door to the guest bedroom the woman has set up for you. The window here provides the lovely view of the setting moon. It's large as ever, full and sinking slowly towards the horizon. As you step through the door, you see Dirk's hair before his head. You still don't understand how it all stay up like it does.

You find it cute, though.

He turns to you, his shades still on. You look at him through your thick glasses, closing the door softly behind you. Walking over to him, you sit next to him on the bed, and you two do nothing but stare at each other for a while. This is always how it starts out. No matter how many little text-message hearts and sweet shenanigans you two get into, it starts out so…so uncomfortable.

Gently, you put an arm around him, pulling him closer. He reacts by leaning more into you, and you lean him lower, until his head is in your lap. You gently run your fingers through his hair as he lays there, calm and content.

"Hey, Jake."

"Hello, Dirk."

Finally, a bit of conversation to be had. It's always small at first but it grows eventually. Maybe it's not uncomfortable, you think. Maybe it's just nice to be quiet together.

"You know, it's really much too dark for these things." You say, reaching down to Dirk's face, taking off his shades with the utmost caution, and god does it make you feel special. You know he's never once let anyone take these off, not even as a child. The first time he let you, it was astonishing to you, and it still is. Underneath the pointed black shades which you have just set on the desk, there burns a pair of fiery orange eyes, which aren't very natural at all. Your green eyes have very little competition against these beauties.

"You're staring again."

"You know it's in the good way, old chap." You lean down, kissing his forehead, and he closes his eyes. It's the one thing poor Strider loses his cool over. Eyes, of all things! Sometimes you don't understand this boy, but you'll be damned if you don't love him. Suddenly, he turns to his right, wrapping his arms around you—

"Woah!"

And now you're lying down, and he's snuggling you from the side. You relax, turning towards him, doing your best to snuggle him back without crushing either of your arms. He moves his face closer to yours, and you can feel every breath that he lets out. Slowly, he opens his eyes, meeting your own. He moves in even further, and you close your eyes, only able to expect the feel of the soft lips against your own, how he handles it with such expertise. At the perfect time, he backs away from the kiss, and you open your eyes to reveal the calm-as-ever boy.

"How far are we gonna go this time?" He asks, almost as if it's an everyday question. You were used to the strange rates of comfort between the two of you; it was low at first, but then seemed to skyrocket.

"Do you want me to tell you?" You whisper to him, bringing him even closer to you, the gap between you and him closing completely.

"I'd much rather you do in detail." The corner of his lip turns upward into a smirk.

"Anything you wish." You say, and then proceed to whisper into his ear. It's sweet at first, kisses, and taking your shirt off, loving him, but then you decide it's about time for this. It has been for a while. "…and then, once I'm done with that, I'll grab you by the reins and make you scream." You could've sworn you saw Dirk's eyes widen, but no, not him.

"I think I'd enjoy that. You better get started then, English, we don't have much time." You comply, pushing him over to get on top of him. You move in, kissing him, and immediately, his mouth opens just enough for you. Your tongue slides in, and before you know it, you're wild as you've ever been. The air about you now is incredibly hot, and goddamnit all, he just tastes so good. You both pull back for air in heavy breaths, and suddenly, you're pulling your shirts off. Both of them fly over the bed, your top layer flopping down on the bed with a thump. Something was still inside. That's right.

"I thought you'd like this…" You smirk as you grab your green shirt, grabbing something inside. Dirk finishes pulling his shirt off, staring with interest as you pull a black collar from your pocket. Eagerly, without much question, he stretches out his neck. You clip it around quickly and use two fingers to tug him close—looking him right in those eyes.

"I expect to be called 'sir' from now on." You growl, and strangely enough, Strider smiles.

"Only if Sir will let me pleasure him." He retorts near instantly. You tug him towards you again, and once more you find yourself in the hot air you just experienced. You're grinding against him, bucking your hips so hard and so often you swear you can hear whimpers from him. Your hand instinctively goes down to grope his crotch, and he breaks the kiss gasping. That's just what you wanted.

"Stay still." You mutter, undoing his belt and taking down his pants. He's wearing boxers, underneath, and even what look to be orange stockings. You contemplate how to attack this situation, but your lust overpowers all reason, and before you know if you're nearly tearing his boxers off. He's squirming under you, and you love that feeling of power. How your naked little pet is so nervous and fragile at this point, his throbbing cock out in the air all for you. Leaning forward, you still his movements by putting a finger to his lips. You never thought Strider to act like this, even in bed. Maybe it's all the power you have over him right now.

Slowly, you tease him, even though your pants tented a long while back. You strip down slowly, and you can even see him biting his lip as you do so. Your shorts come off, and then your boxers as well before you lay yourself over him, grinding bare skin against skin. You let out quiet moans and whimpers, your breathing unsteady. And Dirk really isn't helping with his own, not to mention the quiet and constant mentions of 'sir'.

Slowly, you shift yourself into position, your hips just a few inches from his, and you two lock eyes. Suddenly you're scared. Scared that you might hurt him, that he might not want this, but again, your libido is off the charts, and without a second thought, you dive into it.

==>JAKE: BE THE HISTORIAN

Your name is ARADIA MEGIDO, and you have been doing this for weeks. Letter after letter written, then thrown away. You can't seem to do this, even with Kanaya's help. You're so shy, so shy it hurts. No, not shy, you're scared. Scared that you aren't able to adequately express your feelings. After all, that's how it's always been. You've been excited about things before but you haven't been able to show them very well. Your words come out hollow and meaningless. The only thing you can describe with pure passion is history. And no, you've already tried to use historical allusion as a way to ask this person out.

You see them all the time in the library. They're always there, around the science and technology section. It's not near the history section at all, but rather, somewhere very far. You've seen them there once or twice, though. Probably figuring out when the inventions were used, made… you admire them so, so much, but you can't. You just can't come out and say it.

Goddamn your un-pinpoint-able feelings, goddamn them all to Hell.

==>ARADIA: BE THE BAKER

Your name is TAVROS NITRAM and you don't know what your feelings are doing right now. It's been years since you felt this way. Your heart is all mangled up and every time you think of that…that moment, it wrenches and you have to stop yourself before something worse happens. Just thinking of that violinist makes your heart pound. That adorable head of ginger hair, just how skinny he looked…god, no, no, no.

You're supposed to love HER, not him.

Her, not him…


	4. Rain

Rain

==>JANE: CONTEMPLATE

There it is again. It's this…god-awful feeling.

No, not awful.

It's nothing.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring into your bowl of batter as the timer on the oven counts down. You see a colorful blur stop by the kitchen window out of the corner of your eye. You can't bring yourself to move. You don't have the energy, it's like you're frozen still. You want to collapse all of a sudden, like something has weighed you down. It's as if you've rusted. Nothing works anymore.

The blur moves past the window as you stare into the bowl, and you begin counting the chocolate chips you put in the batter, just to try and snap out of this state. One, two, three, four,

So you're going to eat that, then.

You shiver a bit. Movement. This always happens to you. You freeze up everywhere nowadays. Just because you can't stop thinking about it…

You wish you could do what he does.

Your eyes widen and you nearly throw the bowl onto the floor in a rage. You take a deep breath—it doesn't help. You put the bowl in the fridge and proceed to take the brownies out of the oven, putting the tray on a cooling rack.

This is all you do, isn't it?

You pause in the doorway again—a momentary stop, enough so that you can barely turn off the lights. You keep moving forward, however, under the guise of false confidence. You can never keep your thoughts away for long. They come like the tide—steadily higher as time goes by.

Going up the stairs as quietly as possible, you look up ahead of you.

Can you even get upstairs without having to take a nap?

You pause on the stairs as well. Slowly, you make your way up, towards the bathroom. It's time you checked again. After all, they only let the thoughts come on more freely. It lets you reflect more easily if you just get it over with it. You make sure to close and lock the door behind you. You can't risk anyone seeing you like this.

You stare into the mirror, and you stare for a long, long time. A few minutes pass, at least, before you begin to lift up your skirt, showing your oversized thighs. Your fat legs, leading to your even fatter torso.

And the scars.

You can't ever forget the scars.

How stupid.

Do you really think you can get out like that?

Do something for once.

You sigh in a shaky manner—the thoughts you had now float freely around you. In a way, you're relieved, to be able to think this way. You've never been able to do it before without Dirk or Dave noticing. They're masters of hiding emotion, so it's only logical they know how to spot a failure like you. Instead, you've pushed back these thoughts to the point of immense buildup. You've resorted now to hours alone in the bathroom, cutting and thinking. You try not to cut any more, but you've thought. You've thought so, so very much.

You're thinking right now. You're thinking about Dirk, and how he's running off to see his boyfriend, how he's always going off on these glorious escapades. How you're always home… Your father is out with Mister Strider a lot, performing, hanging out. Your 'brother' is always going off in secret. You're standing at home, baking, eating, and doing nothing.

You wonder why you're fat.

You agree with this voice. It doesn't tell lies to you all the time. You've grown smart enough. The weight most certainly does not run in the family. Your father was very muscular, you know that, and from what you heard your mother was constantly active. The reason really is because you're doing nothing. But then again, who would let you?

Dirk relies on you to hide him escaping. Mister Strider and your father rely on you for cooking…

No, no he doesn't.

Your dad relies on you for nothing. He doesn't even look you in the eyes these days, and you can't wonder why. He seems so cheery on the outside, with those bright blue eyes. The ones you and he share. He's so comfortable with friends, but when you try to talk to him…

Not now, Jane.

Maybe another day, Jane.

I'm busy, Jane. Go play with Strider.

It's like he's grown distant from you. He doesn't even invite you to his shows anymore, but instead, gives the usual routine speech all parents give to kids they're leaving home alone. Then he leaves, and Dirk sneaks out of the house, and you're alone. He comes home after Dirk returns, and he doesn't say a word to you. He doesn't even say thank you.

But Mr. Strider is so different. He and you have the most wonderful conversations sometimes. He pays attention to you, he talks to you, and he's even invited you on a few trips. However, you father always butts in,

That's too far, Jane.

You're not old enough, Jane.

I don't think you're responsible enough yet, Jane.

You contemplate throwing the glass jar cotton balls across the room, but you resist. You're so tired of him controlling you. So, so tired of not going anywhere, not doing anything, not learning, not…

Living.

You're so tired of being dead on the inside; like he is towards you…You need relief more than anything. You need an adventure. A night to yourself, maybe a week, a month, a year.

You begin contemplating.

You begin contemplating your escape.

==>JANE: FAST-FORWARD

It's raining outside as you quietly drag your suitcase to the door. You open your umbrella, holding it over your head as you pick up your bag. Quietly as you can, you close the door, and head out into the soaked streets of this city.

They'll know when they wake up. You left a message for Mister Strider on the door. He's always the first to wake up, and will be able to break the news to your father.

He'll probably reply: Who's Jane?

He won't even care.

==>JANE: BE THE HEIRESS

Your name is FEFERI PEIXES and you're not sure why you're up at this UNGODLY HOUR. You're staring out your window as rain patters against it. It's four in the morning now, and you can't sleep. Not tonight. Everything is too cold in here. Calmly, you enter the kitchen of your GLORIOUS MANSION, determined to get a glass of warm milk. However, you're stopped by your HEAD SERVANT, ERIDAN AMPORA.

He's a tall, strapping man in a purple suit with the strangest of style choices sometimes. He has a bit of a stutter, but you'll be darned if he's not professional.

"Is there anything I can help you w-with, Miss Peixes?"

"Oh, no, Eridan, I'm…I'm quite alright…" You sigh, touching your hand to your forehead. "I'm just…having some trouble getting to sleep. You should too."

"W-We are preparing for breakfast, Miss Peixes. W-We are alw-ways up at this hour."

"…Ah, right. Pardon me." You pour yourself a glass of milk, warming it in the microwave. You clutch your fluffy pink robe, desperate to get back to bed with this. "I'm going to go back to bed with Sollux. Please carry on."

"Of course, Miss Peixes." He retorts, pivoting on his heel and heading into the second kitchen on the other side of the dining hall. The one you are in is only used for big crowds. You wonder why he was in here at all…

Retrieving your warm milk, you head back to bed, where your boyfriend lay. He's not up, but instead, sleeping like a log. You sit on the edge, running your fingers through his wavy blonde hair, sighing quietly. It's so strange, you think, to have somebody attracted to you. Somebody, after all of these years…

When you were a young girl, you came into the world padded by servants who loved and adored the 'Young Miss Peixes' and all she had to offer. However, as you grew older, you noticed your parents were never around. Servants began to cycle, the older ones retiring and new ones coming in. Only Eridan has stayed through the years, but that didn't help. You came to realize how empty this life is…how your parents just have you so they can put the money on you when they pass. You can't say it will be a burden. Just…lonely.

Gently, you grab Sollux's hand, squeezing it softly. At least he'll be there. He promised you, so many times. He's told you how you two would eventually get married, have kids, how you would stay there for those kids. However, he did not dwell on the topic long at all…But you're assured now. When you get married…When you do, everything will be just fine…

==>FEFERI: BE THE PROSECUTOR.

Your name is TEREZI PYROPE, and you are just waking up. It's five in the morning, and it's raining harder than it ever has. You step over to the window in your nightgown, frowning. It always starts out like this in the mornings. Everything is fuzzy until you put on your glasses, which are, as always, sharp in both their shape and style. You slip the triangles of glass on, and suddenly, everything is much clearer to you.

This is why they call you the seer of mind down in the courtrooms. Your vision is absolutely terrible, but even without your glasses, you can see if someone is lying right away. You can see the motives, the suspects-the who, why, and howdunnit. You've shown the true criminal in the courtroom more times than you can count, whether it be the witness on the stand or the defense attorneys you fight against. It's a wonderful feeling, really. But...

No, best not to think of that right now. You have to get ready. It's time to go and meet an old friend of yours. He's been there for you a lot, whether he knew it or not. He helped you get through law school, really, with his out-of-the-box way of thinking and his constant hyperbolic descriptions. It was both funny and taught you quite a bit, and you can certainly thank him for developing your skills in the courtrooms. After you met him, you thought it would be a one-time thing. But no, he called, you two talked, and you learned from each other. He was great practice for spotting underlying emotions. You don't know how you helped him, but you can assume you did him some good.

Still, that's not the point. The point is you have somewhere to be. You get dressed and brush your hair, and on your way out of your apartment, you grab your umbrella. It bears the Libra symbol against a bright red background, all attached to a pole that ends in a dragon's head. It's your favorite umbrella, and you make sure to take care of it. Taking the elevator down, you say hello to one of your floor mates, who seems to be carrying a large collection of towels to the washer downstairs. He responds calmly but firmly with a hello of his own. You get off on the lobby floor, opening your umbrella as you exit the building.

You're walking to Le Sancerre, but you're not going to order food. Just meet with him. As you round the corner, you spot a friend of yours out in the rain, same as ever. He's dressed from head to toe in tacky polka dots and is wearing makeup that he never seems to wash off. You don't tell him that, though.

"Hey, Gamzee." You wave to him, giving a big, toothy grin.

"Well hey, sister, here to catch up on the latest gossip?" He smirks at you, knowing you can't resist a few good tidbits.

"Go ahead and hit me!" You giggle, always wanting to say 'I knew all of that already!' one day.

"Well. That Vantas kid, the one from the states, I hear he's been doin' well. Apparently threw a motherfuckin' rose to some guy at his last show. People are sayin' he's in looove."

"Ohhh! I see, go on!"

"And then that Sollux guy? Makin' the indie games and shit? His next title is comin' out real, real soon." He sets up a few colored balls around the wall he's standing by, and then and then proceeds to start putting up what seems to be a tarp.

"I always did love Captor games." You smile. "Anything else?" You grin, always knowing he saves the best for last.

"Know that Eridan guy? Peixes's head servant-the guy who follows her around all the time? He's totally gonna ask her the fuck out one of these days. He don't know when."

"But she's with Sollux! They've been together for years!"

"Yeah, he thinks they're gonna break up if he says shit."

"Pfft, as if! Thanks for that, Gamzee. I needed some sunshine in my day."

"Anytime, sister."

You take off towards the cafe again, your smile quickly fading. You love Makara to bits, yes, but sometimes he just isn't enough.

Upon arrival, you spot him immediately, or rather, he spots you.

"Yo, TZ."

"...Strider." You crack a bit of a smile at him, and although you wanted it to be more malicious than anything, it comes out weak.

"You don't gotta push yourself. It's alright."

"...You're right." You immediately go back to frowning, walking over to a certain little brick in the walkway. It's engraved with the word 'PYROPE'. Just seeing it hurts. It hurts so, so much.

"..." Strider walks over, putting a hand on your shoulder, letting you know he's there.

"You get through it every year, TZ, every year. You can do this."

"...She was an amazing woman, you know."

"I know."

"One of the best prosecutors I ever saw...I looked up to her so much. I wanted to be her..."

"Why?"

"She could put anyone in their place-she was so sharp, so...smart, so imaginative. She figured out every case ever handed to her...but...but she got too deep into it. I just...I can't..."

"Shhh." Strider hushes you, pulling you closer, and you instinctively grab hold of him.

"...I can't believe it...They...They killed her..." You begin to sob violently into his chest while he comforts you, patting your head.

Your mother was an amazing prosecutor with amazing skills, who, much like you, could see every reason behind every crime. However, once she tried to tackle a case that no other would, for the safety of themselves and their families. The suspect was from a group of violent thugs, and although your mother revealed them entirely and had them thrown into prison, they did something horrible.

His name was Droog. Diamonds Droog, they called him. He invaded your mother's life, knowing that she was susceptible after she broke it off with your father. They dated for a while, and their final date was here. While she wasn't looking, Droog slipped something into her drink. The funeral was held three days afterwards.

Your father didn't come.

The criminal was detained and you were left alone again, to finish law school. You tried hard to get by, and you only did so with Strider's help. He's always been there for you, ever since you got to be a volunteer at one of his shows. And you are so, so grateful.

"Shhh, shhh..." Strider is still shushing you, and your tears come to a halt.

"...I...I'm okay now. I'm fine..." You whisper, backing off again. You try to collect yourself, and stare up at his umbrella. Just collect some facts, that will help...It always does.

Like yours, it's a bright red, with a lighter red gear that spans all across the top of it. Simple for Strider's tastes, you suppose. A little more collected now that you've gotten yourself to think straight, you look back down at the man in front of you.

"Strider?"

"Yeah, TZ?"

"...Let's walk."

"Alright."

Every year since that day, you come back to remember her, and Dave is always there, no matter what. With your senses regained, you notice he looks a bit worried, and in thought about something. You grab his hand as you walk forward.

"There's something you're not telling me." He walks with you.

"It's...crazy. You don't wanna hear about it."

"Well, what else are friends for?" You say that, but you wish it was so much more.


	5. The Lost Child

The Lost Child

==>JANE: STOP.

It's been hours since you started walking. You've passed countless amounts of stores, statues, and people. Your suitcase drags along behind you, the wheels clicking over every section of pavement. The rain is still pouring down, and despite your best efforts, you are rather wet. The umbrella was cheap anyways, you didn't expect it to last for long. Feeling an urge for not only food, but warmth, you turn into the nearest cafe.

Looking down, you avoid eye contact as you enter. You choose a seat at random, sitting down and putting your suitcase next to you. You look up-god, you did it again. You keep sitting where there's other people already sitting there. A young, blonde girl sits in front of you, looking down at her coffee. She seems dressed for a warmer day, and she shivers a bit in her seat. She hasn't noticed you.

"...Excuse me, ma'am, I-" She gasps, nearly spilling her drink on herself. She looks up with wide, pink eyes. For a moment, you gaze into them-that is most definitely not a natural color. You quickly avert your eyes, so as not to seem like you're staring.

"...Sorry." She mumbles, rubbing one of her temples with her free hand. "...It was a long night last night, I think I might have just...fallen asleep." She laughs a bit, a smile creasing her face. She still seems tired, however.

"It's alright. I just wanted to know if you minded me sitting here..." You laugh nervously, trying to act normal, praying she doesn't think of you as a freak.

"Oh, no, no, it's...it's fine. I've been wanting some company..." She mumbles. "...My name's Roxy." She waves to you, not even bothering to raise her hand all that much.

"Jane. Jane Crocker." You respond, not sure why you're being so formal. You give the same half-hearted wave as her, which makes her giggle a bit.

"Sorry 'bout that...haha...got a bit of a... a..." She moves her hand around in the air, twirling it and squinting her eyes. "...hangover, that's it."

"Ah, I'm not too into the whole drinking thing...we don't even have that stuff at my house." You shrug. Your dad never bought anything, Mister Strider only brought home something for himself, and you occasionally used the stuff in your baking. But it was only enough for that.

"It's fine, don't expect anyone to drink like I do...After all, prolly don't got problems like I do." She sighs, resting her chin in her palm. Your expression switches to a more sorrowful one as you attempt to sympathize.

"...Well, I might have an idea..." You mumble, wondering if it's her parents as well.

"...You get overshadowed and ignored by your mom a whole fuckload, too?" She narrows her eyes.

"...Well, no, but...I do, if it's my dad we're talking about." Your expression becomes as melancholy as her's. She notices, reaching across the table and putting her hand on your own.

"Well listen, Janey, you can get through it, alright?" She gives a weak smile, which must be next to impossible considering her hangover. You nod politely, but you don't draw your hand back. Her touch feels warm.

"...I'm sure I will, Roxy. I just...need to get away right now." You sigh, retracting your hand. Closing your eyes for a moment, you hear something move on the table. You smell coffee.

"...Do what you need, hon." She pats your head, not condescendingly, but more reassuring than anything. "...You can have the rest-I'm not too interested in it anyhow. Gotta run." Before you can say anything, she's out the door. You look down at the coffee mug, and then at the napkin under it. There's something written on it.

tipsyGnostalgic

That is most definitely a chumhandle-maybe she'd like to talk more? It's too bad you don't have a computer here. Maybe at the library...she seemed nice enough. You sit quietly in your seat as you proceed to finish off her coffee. Tipsy...well, you suppose it's fitting.

==>JANE: BE THE HEIRESS.

Your name is Feferi Peixes and you're currently returning from a morning walk. Petrichor is all around you, and you inhale deeply, relishing the scent. As you go to open your gates, you see a young child dragging a suitcase with her. Blinking a few times, then attempting to focus on her, you see that she is damp, probably from having been out in the rain.

"You! Yes, you there, please, come inside-you'll get sick like this!" The young girl looks confused for a moment, almost shocked when you offer. However, she cautiously strides towards you, rather slowly-that is, until you usher her in. You call for a servant. "Eridan! Eridan, get this girl a towel and a change of clothes!" He doesn't respond but you know he heard.

Getting her inside, Eridan is already waiting at the bathroom, holding a large towel and a change of clothes for the young girl. You usher her in, although she seems to be admiring the house far too much to do anything else properly. Handing her the towel and clothes, Eridan shuts the door. You sigh in relief. You thought that would be much harder-some people honestly don't like it when you help. You're not sure you understand why.

==>FEFERI: WAIT.

A few minutes later, the girl exits the bathroom, and Eridan quickly grabs her wet clothes.

"These w-will be w-washed w-with the utmost care, miss." He reassures her. She still looks confused and amazed as ever. You pat the chair next to you, smiling. Hopefully she's up for a nice conversation. As she comes over to sit, though, she's speechless.

"...So hello there, Miss...?"

"...Crock...er..." She sounds like a robot, and you look around to see what she's looking at-it's not anything too much, but you suppose it's something.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Crocker."

==>FEFERI: BE THE HISTORIAN.

Your name is Aradia Megido, and you're not sure if you can do this just yet. No. You're sure you can't, but you're going to do it anyways. This is the dividing line that you made a few years ago, when you first started coming to this library. Just across the study area lies the science and technology section. Where you stand is the history section. And today, you're going to cross it.

Slowly, you make to move your foot out of the aisle. One after the other, you slowly make your way across. It isn't long before you find yourself in the right aisle-the same one as her. You take a deep breath, trying to make sure you're ready. You approach and tap her shoulder.

"Oh-Yes?"

"..." You pause for a moment, not expecting her to turn around. Wait, then what were you expecting?! It's easier to say you're stunned, or-

"...Are you alright?" She mutters.

"Oh! Yes, yes, pardon my silence." You spaced out, you'll admit it.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"...I...well..." You're about to say something about her coming here for a long time, how you wanted to get to know her, but- "Can you tell me about the history of the universe?" Holy shit, just...WHAT? What the fuck was that?!

"Oh, well, uh...gosh! That's kind of hard." She says, opening up one of her books, flipping to a chapter. You note that it's written by Stephen Hawking. "There's lots of theories, but I think the most popular one is that everything was, at one point, so dense that we could've been the size of a tennis ball-the whole universe!" She grins with excitement. Maybe you didn't screw up too badly.

"...Everything?" That's actually making you think-even this city was once a part of the superdense ball of matter...

"Yup. I could tell you all about it-as a matter of fact, I study the smaller levels of science. Microscopic-sometimes even smaller-because I'm trying to find new ways to manipulate the atoms and make them form something else. Obviously, the Big Bang is where I'd go if I want to create something. Well, at least...that's first!" She giggles. You never noticed how cute it was when she did.

"I see...I'd love to hear more about this-it sounds like it could revolutionize modern science-whatever it is you're doing, I mean." You're not sure how else to say it-you're finding it a bit hard to understand.

"Really?! Why don't you come over for dinner? I'm sure Jake and I would love a visitor. Oh-pardon my manners! I'm Jade Harley, or, as some call me, Professor Harley. I teach a science class in my spare time." She grins, extending her hand. "And you?"

"...Aradia Megido-I'm a historian, hence the question...and...I think I have..." Other plans? No, no, not this time! "...To come for dinner tonight! It sounds absolutely wonderful, you know." You smile-oh my gosh, this is...going so, so well. You shake her hand firmly.

"Ah, I think I might've heard about you somewhere!" She smiles, letting go of your hand, and rips out a piece of notebook paper, scribbling down her address. "How does 7:00 tonight sound? After all, it's much better to discuss such amazing topics over food, right?!"

You stare at the piece of paper like it's made of solid gold and encrusted with diamonds.

"I...of course, yes! I'll be there tonight, don't you worry!" And she just smiles that smile you love to see.

==>ARADIA: ARRIVE

You've dressed your best. Your hair is no longer in any sort of braid or ponytail, but rather, you've left it down. You picked out a lovely maroon dress, hoping that you aren't being too fancy. It's not like you're wearing jewelry or anything, right? Approaching the Harley house, you knock on the door, and wait.

The door suddenly opens to a boy dressed in a green jacket, with styled black hair. He turns around.

"Mother! She's here!" He calls out, and steps towards the stairs. Jade rounds the corner from the kitchen quickly. Suddenly, she stops.

"W-Why, Miss Megido, you look lovely..." You can tell she thinks you're a bit overdressed, and you can feel the warmth rise to your cheeks.

"Thank you." You mumble, stepping inside. "..." You look around the room. It's nothing fancy, but better than your home. There's a few chairs for a sitting room, and through a door lies the kitchen and what seems to be the dining room. Jade motions to the kitchen-and-dining-room combo. You've been so preoccupied observing the house you didn't even notice the smell of dinner.

The smell of steamed greens comes first, which isn't all that pleasant to you. But then you can smell the pasta past that, and you're suddenly very excited for dinner. Pasta was always a familiar dish to you. It was safe, tasted good, and there were thousands of ways to prepare it.

"Dinner's ready, would you care to sit down and join us?" She asks, knowing you can't refuse because it's right there.

"Of course." You smile nervously and turn towards the kitchen, when you hear a voice in the doorway.

"You wouldn't mind me either, would you, Jade?" Your turn around to see a young, blond boy wearing shades. He looks to be about the age of Jade's child.

"Of course not, Dirk. After all, I did say you were always welcome." Jade nods, leading you both into the kitchen. Her child is already seated, eagerly awaiting the moment when he can eat his food. Jade scurries into the kitchen for some more food and a plate to put it on.

"Hello there." You say to the children across from you. Dirk says nothing, Jake gives a half-hearted wave, seemingly confused and otherwise uninterested. "...My name is Aradia Megido--you can call me Aradia, if you like." You try to smile, but it ends up being an awkwardly contorted facial expression between the emotions of nervousness and embarrassment.

"I'm Jake. Quite the pleasure to meet you, Aradia. I assume you're one of my mother's co-workers? Research-buddies, perhaps?" He seems inquisitive now that you've introduced yourself.

"Yes, you could say that, I suppose." Dirk moves just a little bit, a slight shift. You wonder-no, it couldn't be. Nobody would catch on that fast. Jade returns with a plate for Dirk, and she sits down. Despite his eyes being elsewhere, you can't help but shake the feeling Dirk is watching you.

==>ARADIA: ENJOY DINNER

You try your best to enjoy the food put in front of you. After everyone has finished, Jade and Jake engage in a conversation about guns and rifles and other things you don't know much about, unless they talk about guns made before the year 2000. You look back to Dirk, and you swear you make eye contact with him. He raises his hand, pointing back into the living room, then proceeds to get up.

You feel like you're meant to follow him, and leave the table quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the conversations between Jake and Jade. You enter the room, and sit down in the chair opposite of him. Immediately, he starts speaking in a calm, smooth voice, so you two won't be noticed.

"...I know exactly what you're up to." Shit. "You're really obvious--you're lucky they're both completely fucking oblivious." You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks again.

"...What gave me away, then?" You ask, a bit saddened that your ruse has come to an end so quickly.

"Nobody comes in on a business meeting, or even just a research effort and seems that nervous unless they're going to do something." He adjusts his shades a slight bit. "And quite frankly, Miss Megido, I have some problems with your goal. No, not problems...concerns."

"...Which would be?" The boy seems strongly connected to the family-and you pray he accepts you. This is your chance at a new life...it can't be ruined, not now. Not so soon.

"...I'm going to do something that I would never do, Megido, so you understand I am being serious." Dirk lowers his shades, and you're surprised to see bright, blazing orange eyes lay behind them. "..."

"...What is it, then?" You ask, nervous. You feel like a schoolgirl getting scolded, ready to cry because your teacher is yelling at you.

"I love that boy in there, Megido. I love him more than anything in the world, and I don't have a problem with you being his mother, or even my mother-in-law, eventually. But if you do anything, and I mean ANYTHING to hurt Jake on purpose...I will personally make sure that you get what's coming to you."

You nod slowly, trying to maintain your composure.

"...Of course...I just hope that we can all get along. After all, we're not so different." You think of something, something that you do not usually show to people. But Dirk seems to pay attention to details others don't take any notice to.

"...I suppose not, but I assume you mean something different." He puts his sunglasses back on. "What makes us so similar, then?" Yes, getting right to the point. You like that.

"...Come here, Dirk." You say, angling the reading lamp beside you. You move it so that the light will go across your face, illuminating your features, but you leave it off. Dirk, with no hesitation, comes over and leans down, peering at your face. "Look into my eyes." You smile slyly.

"...They're dark brown. So what? Orange and brown aren't the same color." He seems unimpressed, but that's when you turn the lamp on. You can see the glint out of the corner of your eye, but more importantly, you can see Dirk's slightly stunned expression.

"And I think you'll find brown and maroon aren't the same, either." Your eyes are such a dark red that they appear black, and black irises automatically translate to brown eyes for most people. You could hide them in plain sight like that. Confident now that you've stunned him slightly, you smile and stand up. "...I do hope you can accept me. I don't mean for harm to come to anyone, alright?" Gently, you put your arms around him, and hug him. You know he was trying very hard to be stoic and badass for his friend, but you're pretty sure he's nervous right now, just as much as you, even if he doesn't show it.

He stays silent, and he seems more relaxed at this point. He returns the hug, and for some reason, you're the one to end it several seconds later. It was like he didn't want to let go.

"...We have some friends to get back to, don't we? Quickly, before they notice we've left."

"...Aradia."

"Yes, Dirk?"

"Are you planning to say anything soon?"

"...Let's wait." You both smile at eachother before proceeding into the kitchen, joining the conversation with lighter hearts.

==>ARADIA: BE THE HEIRESS.

Your name is Feferi Peixes and you're not sure what to do anymore. The sense of wonder has worn off on Jane, the poor girl, and now she is too nervous to answer any of your questions. Confused at to what you should do next, you resort to something you were told to give up long ago. You glance around to make sure nobody is watching.

"...Alright, then, let's learn more about you, shall we?" You smile, briefly looking past Jane and out the window at the night sky behind her. Yes, you're sure tonight will be perfect for this.

"...Alright, then..." She mutters, clearly nervous and still shaken up by the fact that she is in a stranger's house. You take out a deck of cards-but not any cards. Tarot cards. They were given to you by an old friend, who had them specially made for you. They have the symbol of Ophiuchus on the back, and a different arcana on front. You treasure them like nothing else, as they're all you have to remember her by. You decide to use only the major arcana for this drawing, shuffling them, then carefully setting the cards up in a neat pattern.

"...I need you to pick three, alright?" You smile at her. Jane carefully reaches out, her finger over the cards before she picks the first, tapping it. You take it into your hand, and do the same with the other two. Carefully, you gather up all of the other cards, and set them aside. You play out the cards as she handed them to you.

"...Your past is represented by The Hanged Man. This represents conforming, surrender, or giving up. I assume this is why you might have run away?" You set down the card, and Jane looks genuinely surprised, and you smile. You enjoy startling people with this.

"Your present is represented by the Wheel of Fortune." You continue, setting down another card. "This represents Destiny, Fate, a turning point in your life. Perhaps our meeting." That feels nice to think about-that you were fated to meet this girl. You're not sure if it's the concept of fate bringing you together, but Jane seems to be relaxing a bit.

"...And then your future-" You stop, looking at the card, obviously displeased with it. "The Moon, which represents fear, anxiety, and psychological conflict." Jane seems a bit worried now, grasping her pajamas that she was given for the night. "...It's alright. Not all of this is scary as it seems, it could be something very small. The arcana-"

The door flies open, and Eridan marches into the room, looking rather serious.

"...Miss Peixes." He says, as you scramble for your cards. However, it proves fruitless as Eridan snatches the deck from you, being much stronger. You gasp, and Jane looks on, confused. "I believe I have told you to avoid these...practices."

"Eridan, no, it was...nothing! Just a little trick I wanted to show her!" You sound like you're begging and you don't know why-you just want the cards back! Just the cards! You don't care about anything else, but you know Eridan won't let you have them. He's too strong for you to just grab them.

"...I'm sorry, but this is for your own good, Miss Peixes." Eridan takes a single card from the deck, holding it in his hand. He takes his other hand, grabbing the card, slowly, painfully ripping it down the center, and you can feel your heart going with it.

"ERIDAN!" You shriek, causing Jane to yelp. You get up to stop him from doing any more damage, but he pushes you back down rather roughly, and you land in the chair. Realizing all your efforts will be fruitless, you keep calling out his name, praying that he will stop. But each and every card follows the first, the remains falling down onto the table, onto the floor, and onto you. He keeps going until the very last card is ripped, each and every one now scattered about you.

"...That WILL be all." He huffs, pivoting on his heel. But you can barely see it, because everything is blurry and wet, and you can't stand it. You stand up, knocking over your chair, but you don't care. You run to your room, where Sollux is absent again, working late, and you fall onto your bed. Through your tears you can barely see the half of the card that was tangled in your hair. Trying to compose yourself, you pick it up, reading the words across the bottom. 'The Emperor' watches you with a face of utter disdain, and it isn't long before you break down into tears again, the card's eyes watching you all the while.


	6. Flare

Flare

==>JOHN: WAKE UP.

Your name is JOHN EGBERT. At this moment in time you are feeling incredibly GROGGY because you’ve just woken up. Your COMEDIC PARTNER is currently in the kitchen, and you can hear the coffee maker working. Slowly, you shuffle into the kitchen in your pajamas.

“Morning, Stri...” You trail off, because something is so, so absolutely wrong here. Dave is sitting at the table, his arms folded. Normally this is not a problem, but he looks angry. Not only does he seem frustrated, but the most wrong thing about this entirely wrong picture is his pair of sunglasses.

They’re sitting on top of his head.

“Have a fucking seat, Egbert.” Those red eyes might as well have pierced right through you. Rubbing your eyes, you sit down at the table, worried as to what could be wrong.

“...What is it, Dave?” As soon as you finish the question, he slams down a piece of paper, written on in what seems to be a cyan gel pen. It’s hard to read from here, but Dave begins reciting it.

“Dear Mister Strider, it has come to my attention that I am not needed here. It is with no spite or anger that I leave home, but instead with motivation and want for a new beginning. I sincerely hope you can explain this properly to Mister Egbert, and I apologize for putting you through this. Love, Jane.” He slams the paper down again, his red eyes burning a hole through you.

“W-What?!” You sputter, still unable to comprehend anything due to your state of mind.

“You didn’t pay attention to your fucking KID, Egbert THAT’S what.” He glares at you, going on. “Seriously, even I noticed--Hell, I bet Dirk noticed, too. And you fucking see that? She wrote ‘Mister Egbert’. Fucking ‘Mister Egbert’. That’s not how you spell Dad.” The reality of the situation starts to hit you. Jane is gone. She’s somewhere out there and you don’t know where, but it’s all your fault.

“...I...but...I didn’t...” You sputter. “What are we going to do?!” Dave clicks his tongue at you, intent on making sure you know he’s pissed.

“You’re fucking lucky there’s a ‘we’, man.” He turns his back to you, speaking to the door that leads to your basement. “Hey.”

Dear God, what is she doing here? What the FUCK is she doing here?!

“...You’re right. You’re lucky there’s a ‘we’, even if ‘we’ haven’t been together for a very long time.” There she is--the beauty in black, though she doesn’t look so beautiful right now. “Dave dragged me out of bed at four in the morning, I hope you’re happy!”

“...I’m...I’m sorry, Jade--”

“No you aren’t.” Dave spits back. “You know how fucking long I held onto this letter here? A day. You know what that means? She wasn’t home. The whole day. You didn’t even say a fucking word, Egbert, you bastard.”

Your legs are curling inward, and you grasp the fabric of your pajamas to no avail. You thought you’d be rid of this feeling by now, you thought you’d never have to cry again.

“Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean you can neglect a child like that, John!” Jade growls, walking closer, putting her hand on the table. Your head is tilted so far down you can’t even see her. You couldn’t see her if you wanted to. You can’t help it--you begin to choke, tears streaming down your face. No, no, no, god fucking DAMNIT.

“...John. You have no righ--”

“No. Shut up.” Jade’s voice blocks out Strider’s almost immediately, and she crouches down, wrapping her arms around you. “Leave him alone, go...do something.” You hug her tightly, an embrace, a figure you remember. It’s comforting, but it reminds you of Jane so much.   
You hear the chair Dave is sitting in move, and watch the blurs that are his feet exit the room.

Jade, though she tried to be angry with you, can’t help it.

“Shhh, shhh...” She coos, Patting your hair and holding you as you sob in a godawful way, screeching and wailing all the way. “Please...please stop...she’ll...she’ll be...” You can hear her begin to choke to, and soon, both of you are blubbering messes, and all you can think of is Jane. All you can think of is your daughter and where she is.

And how much you miss her now.

==>JOHN: BE THE FASHION DESIGNER

Your name is KANAYA MARYAM and the little bell above your door has just rung. In walks the lovely Miss Peixes, grinning as always, along with her servant, Mister Ampora. Following them is a young child whom you have never seen before.

“Hello. It’s been quite some time, Miss Peixes.” You grin at her, happy to have her back--after all, every time she models for you, your business receives a large boom. That, and she’s a joy to have around.

“I suppose it has, Maryam! I just came here to get something for Eridan here.” The man by her side does not look all too happy to be here. “Eridan, why don’t you go find a color you like?” She smiles, pointing him towards the back of the shop, where all the blacks and purples are.

“...A wise idea, Miss Peixes. Certainly wiser than some.” You can see Feferi’s expression turn pained for a split second before she smiles again. Eridan walks off behind you, and instantly, the gears in your head start turning.

“...Feferi, is everything alright?” You ask, keeping an eye on the girl who is looking at your white fabrics. As soon as the heiress sees that Eridan has entered the aisle, her smile falls and she looks the most miserable you’ve ever seen her.

“...Kanaya, Kanaya, I can’t do this. Not anymore. No, please, help me. He’s...I just...I can’t, Kanaya, I can’t.” She wraps her arms around you, and you do your best to comfort her in the limited time you have. Already, that child is staring.

“...Feferi, you know what you need to do.” You whisper. It’s something you’ve suggested countless times, but she’s always refused.

“...But...he’s been there all my life! I can’t just fire him--no, it would be...be...”

“...Better for you, Feferi. You know that. I know that. We all do. What has he done this time?”

Slowly, she pulls half of a card from the sash that is tied around her waist. The words ‘THE EMPRESS’ are printed on top, and she flips it over, showing the head of a familiar snake. You instantly recognize it--and grind your teeth.

“...Tell me that’s the only one.”

“...No.”

You grab Feferi’s shoulders, looking her right in the eyes.

“Listen, Feferi, you need to. You will. Just do it--free yourself from this.”

Just as she’s about to say something, someone walks into the store. It’s a familiar customer. Nepeta closes the door behind her as you gently let your hands fall from Feferi’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, uhm...did I interrupt something?” She asks nervously. Nepeta was always one to be polite, however--

“Yes, WAS she interrupting something?” Eridan had also returned from the aisle in the far back, carrying a bolt of expensive purple fabric.

“...No, not at all.” Feferi says, forcing her smile again. You frown with a bit of concern, as does the child who is watching this all from afar. She turns around, smiling at the young girl by the door. “...Eridan, leave that here, please--I just realized we have more suits for you at home, anyhow. Jane, come along.” Both hesitantly obey, confused as Feferi mutters an ‘excuse me’ to Nepeta and strides past her, outside.

After they leave, Nepeta walks up to you, frowning.

“...Is there something wrong with her...?” She asks quietly, as if they were still here.

“Yes, Nepeta. But it’s best to leave her alone for now.”

The girl frowns and sighs, and moves onto another topic--her next work, which is a romance novel by a certain someone whose name eludes you as you slip into a state of contemplation over your poor friend.

==>KANAYA: BE THE ILLUSTRATOR

Your name is NEPETA LEIJON and you are quite concerned for your friend.

Feferi Peixes, heiress to a large fortune and owner of a large mansion, has something on her mind. You decide that in these instances, it is best to sit down and relax with some sugar. You quickly head over to Nitram Sweets with the best of intentions for your emotional friend.

Upon arriving, you close the door behind you, the little bell on the door ringing as you do. Tavros turns to greet you, wheeling his chair over to the counter. His shirt is stained with flour and dried dough, and he seems to have been up for a long time.

“Good afternoon, Nepeta.” He mumbles lazily, yawning afterwards. You look up at him carefully, glancing at the bags under his eyes. Maybe he could use some sugar, too.

“Hi there, Tavros! Long night? You look really tired...” You scramble up onto a barstool next to the counter where some customers ate their pastries. Tavros wheels over for you, putting his arms on the countertop in a very relaxed fashion.

“...Yeah, actually.” He chuckles a bit. “I’ve kind of got love on my mind right now, I guess...” You can’t tell if he’s fantasizing or disappointed. You wave your hand in front of his face to make sure he hasn’t drifted off to dreamland.

“I know exactly what you mean!” You giggle. There’s been someone on your mind a lot, lately. You’ve seen him around since that night, but...You haven’t talked to him. “You remember that cute violinist, right? The one with the nice red hair!” You smile, just imagining runny your hands through those fluffy locks.

“...Uh, yeah, I do...” Tavros seems to have snapped out of his state, and now looks a tad bit interested. “...Do you...like him?” He asks the question carefully, as if he was walking on eggshells.

“I think I do, actually--I’ve been drawing him a lot lately, so I guess he’s been on my mind a lot...” You remember a scene you drew for an author yesterday. It was meant to be two lovers in a rose garden, but you got carried away and found yourself and Karkat in thee picture.

“Oh, I see...” Tavros mumbles, looking down at the pastries he has for sale. “...Did you, uh, need anything, by the way?” You quickly nod in response.

“Yes! I need two slices of the best tasting cake you have!” You exclaim, remembering your original purpose. Tavros quickly packages what you need, though he seems to be out of practice. He almost drops the cake, and cuts it a bit messily. By the time he hands you the box, you’re wondering if he needs a slice as well.

“There you go!” He says nervously, his cheeks red from embarrassment. You fork over the money before taking the styrofoam box provided.

“Thanks, Tavros!” You say, getting out of there as quickly as possible. Your friend needed help!

==>NEPETA: BE THE HEIRESS.

Your name is FEFERI PEIXES, and tonight is a special night. At the very least, it appears to be. As soon as you got home, you were sent to your room, and told not to enter the kitchen or dining hall by any means. Sollux was out with his friends, leaving you alone and with plenty of time to think, plenty of time to make up your mind. Just as you came to your conclusion, a servant knocked on your door, informing you that dinner was ready.

You came to the main dining hall, wondering what all the fuss was about. Then you saw the long, lovely table, with what seemed like hundreds of silver platters atop them. Your mind was so filled with thoughts that you didn’t even smell the aroma of twenty different dishes at once. You shuddered a bit, enjoying the scent before taking your seat at the head of the table. You had reminded yourself not to get too excited.

Before long, though, everyone took their seats, and now they’re happily chatting away. You join in on the fun too, joking around with an old female servant who was rather new. She calls you a whippersnapper and laughs. The food is great tasting and everything about the atmosphere seems happy.

And then you hear a spoon hitting a glass.

Eridan, the head servant, has taken his rightful place nearest to you, showing his rank among the servants, and he is now calling everyone’s attention. He stands up, clearing his throat as the room grows quiet.

“As you all know, I have been w-working here for a v-very long time. In that time, I have seen much of this lovely household and the residents that come and go. However, I believe I am far more delighted to have seen Miss Peixes, all sides of her, while working here.” Eridan pauses for a moment, and the servants clap for him. You blush a bit and wonder where this is leading.

“And Miss Peixes, I must say, every side of you is just as beautiful as the last, and I’ve w-worked v-very hard to protect every side as best as I can. I’ve been thinking lately, you see. Thinking about all the w-wonderful times w-we’ve shared...thinking how long w-we’ve known eachother. But most of all, Miss Peixes, I’ve been thinking of something very important. I understand it is better to have some...buildup to this kind of question, but I believe you’ll find that our past suffices. So now, I have this to ask, Miss Peixes.”

Suddenly, Eridan is pulling you out of your chair. He’s getting on one knee and pulling something out all while trying to say something, straining himself.

“...Miss Peixes...” He strains himself again, saying the phrase very slowly. “...Will...you marry me...?” He opens the box he had pulled out, and the diamond on the ring is bigger than any that you own. The hall erupts into chatter.

“...” You give him a confused look, utterly shocked that he would ask you. You take a deep breath, and the room goes silent as the crowd awaits your reply.

“...No.” And the crowd breaks into chatter again, this time more fervent. Eridan looks shocked, and you can tell he’s about to ask why before you continue.

“All this time, you think you’ve been protecting me, Eridan, but you haven’t been. From day one, you were taking away my favorite toys, saying they were ‘unbecoming’ of an heiress. I ignored it because you seemed to favor me so much, you even seemed to care for me and my future. I thought it was sweet, and for a time, I agreed with you. Years went on like that, and I began to realize: You didn’t care about my future, you cared about YOUR’S. You were raising a girl suited to your tastes, forming her in your image of a perfect woman. You never wanted someone like me, Eridan--you wanted someone you could CONTROL! You might act like your an emperor, waltzing wherever you may please, crushing people’s hopes and dreams, but you’re not! And I, as the true empress of this household, will never falls under the ‘lovers’ category with a FAKE! Eridan, I have had ENOUGH of you and your CONSTANT bullshit! You. Are. FIRED!”

Glasses drop, a few servants wail. Some look on in astonishment, and Eridan himself just stands there as you stare at him. You’re shaking, and you can suddenly feel hot tears running down your cheeks. Eridan does nothing but stand there, despite the fact that you emphasized a few words in your speech to make sure he knew where he went wrong.

“...I said, you’re FIRED!” You yell, throwing your glass on the floor, causing it to shatter. He gasps and backs away, and soon enough, you’re hurling glassware at him, yelling at him to get out. Through his sobs and chokes you can hear pleas of mercy, but you’re not about to stop.  
It isn’t until you’ve chased him to the front door and he’s run outside that you stop.

Slowly, you walk up to the large door, open just enough for a person to slip through, and you shut it gently. As you hear the door click shut, you know you’ll never, ever have to deal with him again.

...And for some reason, it hurts.

It hurts so Goddamn much.


	7. Upward Movement

==>JOHN: SEARCH.

It’s a mildly windy afternoon in Paris, and you’re going around, trying to stick as many flyers as you can against walls and poles. They all have Jane’s face on them, and the photo you chose is one of her smiling. You wonder in the back of your mind if you’ll ever be able to see that smile again. Your eyes are red from crying, your posture lacking, and you can’t help but think of how pathetic a father you’ve been. You know Jane would never love a man like you, especially not like this.

Dave is back home, still very angry about you and your attitude towards your daughter, but he is writing a blog post nonetheless. In the meantime, Jade is trying to keep the house in order, as both of your kids are now gone from the house, and you and Dave are too busy to keep anything in order.

As you walk down the rows of houses, an overwhelming surge of paranoia hits you. Jane could be in any one of these houses, absolutely any of them, or maybe none at all. Maybe she’s lying dead somewhere in a ditch or shivering and cold--

You break down in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to choke back the sobs as the wind blows the photos of your daughter’s smiling face all over the concrete.

==>JOHN: BE THE GUY THAT ISN’T QUITE AS SAD.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you’ll be damned. He’s back.

“That was, uh, a great performance. The one, uh, two nights ago, I mean.” You smile as you feel your cheeks heat up a bit.

“...Thanks, I guess. It wasn’t that great.” He shrugs, eyes looking more at the sweets than you. Karkat’s eyes scan the cookies as you attempt to make conversation, ranging from how the weather was to how the violinist career was going, until you remembered.

“Just wait here a sec!” You smile excitedly as you wheel into the back, Karkat seemingly annoyed with your sudden disappearance. You grab the stack of mail that came in this morning, and look for an envelope, specifically one from a ticket vendor. You pull the purple letter out easily, and wheel back to the front, smiling.

“I, uh, I got these because I thought your violin playing sound really...good! So I thought I’d wanna hear more, and I got these...and I was wondering if you wanted to go?” You pull out two tickets from the purple envelope, smiling nervously as you show them to him. The tickets are black with a colored treble clef on the bottom portion, colored in gradients of cyan, pink, and yellow. Karkat’s eyes widen, his pupils dilating.

“...That’s...That’s her...the...the dealie...the DEALIE! THE MOTHERFUCKING DEALIE!” He’s grasping for the tickets, which you pull away just in time to avoid having them ripped in half. “You’ve gotta let me go with you, please, please, motherfucking please!” His enthusiasm is through the roof, and you begin to think this will go better than expected.

“...I’d really like you to come with me, actually--so we’ll meet here, then? A couple hours before the show?” You smile, and Karkat nods, his mouth still agape from the shock. Suddenly, as if he remembered something, his cheeks turn a bit red and he points to the cookies.

“Two sugar cookies...Please.” He hands over the cash before you even finish bagging them, and over the crinkle of the plastic, you can hear him talking to himself in an excited tone.

“...I’m gonna fucking see the Land of Light and Rain concert I’M GONNA FUCKING SEE IT.” He punches the air, obviously pleased with the world and all of its inhabitants. You smile as you hand him his cookies and change, and as he walks out the door, you swear he’s almost skipping.

...But something still feels really weird about all of this. Something you can’t put your finger on. Actually, you can. You just don’t want to.

==>TAVROS: BE THE HISTORIAN.

You name is Aradia Megido, and as you step inside of the Strider-Egbert household, you swear you can feel the tension. It has been reported to you that Jade has to take care of everything here because her friends have lost their child. The air of the place feels incredibly strange and tense...

Suddenly, a peeved-looking man in baggy clothes comes to greet you from one of the rooms.

“You’re Jade’s friend, right? HEY, HARLEY!” He calls out loudly, startling you. Jade comes out of another door, her hair messy and her clothes equally as relaxed as the angry man’s.

“You don’t have to shout, Dave, I’m right here!” She huffs, straightening her hair before greeting you. “Hi there, Aradia--I’m sorry we couldn’t meet up at my house. It’s a bit of a crisis right now.”

“Of course, of course, I understand. I’ll keep an eye out for her as well.” You nod, fully understanding the situation and trying to express your sympathies. Tired from walking, you help yourself to a seat, and following your example, Dave and Jade do as well.  
“So how has it been? Your research and all.” Jade asks. You blush a bit, averting your eyes.

“A group of researchers asked me to come out to Germany to help them determine what some artifacts they found would be used for.” You shake your head. “But I managed to work it out, so we can video chat. Can’t really leave the country.”

“...Why not?” Jade tilts her head, curious. “Isn’t that what your job is about?”

“...It costs a lot to get out of the country, you know.” You blush a bit, eyes going to Dave now, but as soon as you see his angry expression, you look downwards.

“...Makes sense. Took forever for me and John to get here.” He adjusts the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing, trying to fix his hair. You can tell he hasn’t gotten much sleep or been able to take care of himself. This whole missing child thing must be very time consuming.

“Does your research not earn you enough--” Jade clasped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was rude.” Her cheeks grew red as you chuckled.

“No, no, it’s quite alright. Despite my expertise, my...lack of funds doesn’t let me earn more money by going out of the country. Since I can’t get out of the country, it’s harder to earn money...” You smile, laughing a little.

“Alright, enough about research, it’s hard enough to stay awake as it is.” Dave walks around the corner into the kitchen, grabbing a batch of cold brownies from the fridge. He sets them down in-between the three of you. He grabs one, biting into it rather angrily, before pausing to chew.

“...Hm.” Jade makes an odd noise, looking at the brownies with a slight bit of confusion and longing. She grabs one and tastes it, and her silent confusion only intensifies.

Ah, what the hell. You pick up a brownie too, enjoying the friendly silence for as long as it lasted, before Dave suddenly spoke up.

“Alright, who wants to talk rap instead.”

==>ARADIA: BE THE FASHION DESIGNER.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and at the moment, you are in the hospital.

Perhaps you should rephrase that.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and your are in the hospital because on certain days when you feel especially charitable and friendly, you close up shop and come to volunteer. Most of your day includes wheeling old folk around, telling stories to children, and generally comforting the terminally ill. It makes you feel good after a long day, knowing that you helped someone.

Today, it just so happens that you are wheeling one of the aforementioned old folk, a regular visitor to the hospital. Thankfully, you are wheeling her out, not around.

“The doctor said that if you feel any pain in your abdominal region again, then you should call right away.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The elderly woman smiles. “I won’t hesitate.” For someone who just underwent surgery for a hernia, she is entirely too joyful. You wheel her out the door, where a small, black car awaits her, an angry looking driver behind the wheel. “Thank you, Kanaya.” She smiles as she stands, and you give her the cane she always carries around, a serpent design curling around the pole.

“Anytime, Calliope.” You smile as you walk to the car with her. She opens the door, and before she gets in, you tap her shoulder lightly. “Might you be able to do me a favor? I know you have only recently recovered, so it is not necessary.”

“Oh, no, no,” She shakes her head, smiling. “Anything for you.”

“...Could you please call Feferi tonight? I believe she may want to talk to you.” You say this with a nervous expression, causing her eyes to widen.

“Oh dear.” She whispers, before getting in the car. “I’ll be sure to. Goodbye, Kanaya, and thank you again.” The car pulls away before she can even finish, and you barely catch the last words. You wave goodbye as she disappears, before grabbing the wheelchair she came out on and going back inside.

==>KANAYA: BE THE SCIENTIST

Your name is Jade Harley, and the pan of brownies in front of you is nearly empty. Apparently, everyone was hungry to the point where they all managed to finish an entire pan of confectionaries. 

This is going straight to your collective thighs, you just know it.

As soon as you begin contemplating the sheer amount of weight you’re going to gain from eating excessive amounts of brownies, the door opens to reveal a certain mister Dirk Strider.

“Yo.” He comments, walking in the door, as if it was no big deal that he had been gone for a few days. Which, of course, you know it certainly wasn’t. Dirk would be the person to disappear for days at a time. You can only pray it isn’t more than that.

“Ah, fancy seeing you again.” Aradia comments, turning her head to look at the boy. “It’s been only a few days since we last met, so it’s alright if you don’t remember me.” You tense up a bit, trying to mentally will Aradia to look at you.

“Yeah, I remember you, no worries. You were cool.” You mentally wipe the sweat from your brow, keeping a nice, calm expression on the outside. Of course Dirk would know how to handle these things.

“I do remember quite a bit of you as well. How are you and Jake?” She smiles, and you visibly clench your fists the tiniest bit--unclenching them right after. You’ve been friends with Dave long enough that you know he could have caught that.

“...Weird that you’d pair us together like that, but last I checked, we’re both doing fine.” Dave’s eyes widen as he keeps talking. You fear he’s catching on.

“Just thought I’d inquire. Young love is quite the interesting topic.”

The room goes silent, Aradia just smiling.

“...” Her face falls as she realizes she must have done something wrong, and oh, how she has. You bite your lip as Dave begins to speak.

“...Dirk, what’s this ‘young love’ shit with Jake...?” Dave raps his fingers irritably on the coffee table. You feel both you and Dirk know it’s futile to try and hide it anymore.

“...It’s nothing, Dad--”

“Don’t you fucking tell me it’s nothing. What the fuck have you been doing with that little shit?!” He stands up, pushing the table out of the way, the brownie pan falling off. You yelp a little as it happens, slightly enraged at the way he referred to your son.

“I’m telling you, we haven’t done anything.” You could see that Dirk was trying to hide his emotions--which you’re sure are fear and desperation. A silence ensues for a moment, before Dave speaks again.

“...I’m not having a gay son.” He growls, looking down at Dirk with his flaming red eyes. You want to whine, as you feel responsible for this...

“...What if you have to accept having one?” Dirk says in rebellion--challenging Dave’s ideas, and you can’t help but look as Dave suddenly grabs his shirt collar, lifting him up, before--  
Wham, Dirk is across the room, sliding down the wall, coughing from the wind that was knocked out of him.

“I told you, I FUCKING WON’T.” You can’t look anymore, but all you can hear, even when you cover your ears and cry, is fist hitting stomach, body hitting wall, glass hitting floor... it isn’t until you hear her that you look up.

“Stop it! Stop it, this is pointless!” Aradia cries out, trying to hold Dave back as Dirk, beaten and bloodied, tries to crawl away. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Dave tries to shove Aradia back, but through your blurred vision, you can see she holds firm, and even takes a moment to slap him across the face, making his sunglasses fall to the floor.

“You leave this boy alone, or so help me!” Her voice is shaky, but her body is unmoving, a solid stone barrier between Dave and his child. Another silence ensures before Dave straightens up, trembling from the anger.

“Fuck this.” He whispers, and storms off to his room, shutting the door and locking it as loud as he could. Aradia immediately turns to tend to the injured boy, who, despite the beatings, was not crying like you were.

Slowly, you get up and walk to the bathroom, looking for bandages and disinfectant, and maybe a solution.

After all, everyone could use a little healing right now.


	8. Sarabande

Sarabande

==>BE THE SICKLY WOMAN.

Your name is CALLIE OHPEEE, but due to your strange last name, most people simply call you CALLIOPE. You are a sickly old woman nearing the end of your years, and your husband, who shares your same first name, is as well. You both wait in patience, but while you are still here on Earth, you help everyone out as much as you can.

This is the very reason you are standing in the back of the library, behind the counter in a closed room, sitting down with a certain young girl. You hold her hands gently as she weeps, tears falling onto the wooden table.

“Feferi, I’ve told you since I was very young, there are things that need to be let go. This is one of them, and I know you liked him, but we all must move on eventually.” You tilt the heiress’s head up, seeing the makeup run down her face as she cries. “Time will heal this wound, and space will keep it from opening once more. So please, darling, don’t cry.”

Feferi can only hiccup and murmur that she’d like a moment alone. You quietly oblige and walk away, a little exhausted from comforting her. However, you take a moment to think of how your cards were so mercilessly torn apart, and you remember that it’s worth it.

As you walk back to the counter, almost no line has formed. There is but one patron waiting to be served. She seems a bit confused, you note. You’ve learned how to tell the signs by now. As you pick up her books, you note the titles do not match previous titles for Megido, Aradia. Anglo-Saxon Civilization, A Brief Historical Analysis of Beowulf, but... Dating and The Mechanics of? You realize this is quite...off for her.

“...Heartache, dearie?” You ask, giving a slight bit of a smile. Her eyes widen at the mention, as if she wasn’t expecting you to ask.

“...A...slight bit, I suppose.” Her eyes stray from your’s once more. The way she looks is that she’s absolutely heartbroken, you’d say. As if she had witnessed something that she’d rather not share. You’re about to question it further when suddenly, a blonde teenager trots up to her, carrying a book on robotics and engineering.

“Hey, don’t look so down about it. I’m fine.”

“Your emotional analysis is amazing.” She comments, turning to the blonde in a slight bit of awe.

“Indeed.” You comment, giving a bit of a smile. As a librarian, you’ve learned quite a bit by hanging around the general populace. The boy, Dirk, simply smirks as he rattles off your current emotional state.

“Tired but not unwilling, likely consoling someone, and is taking a break, but has them somewhere nearby...” He taps his chin. “...Ah, her.”

You nod, and Aradia simply looks back and forth between the two of you, then sighs in defeat.

“She’ll be alright, you carry on now--” You stop as you notice a bandaid on his face. “...Are you alright?” You try to approach it cautiously.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, too. Don’t worry about me, alright?” He gives you a smile, and you wish you had your camera. The boy is adorable on the rare occasion he actually smiles.

“Well, alright then.” You shove the books a little closer to them, and they take them, off on their own little journey, while you turn around to continue your own.

==>CALLIOPE: BE THE ILLUSTRATOR

Your name is Nepeta Leijon, and you cannot BELIEVE what you are hearing.

You are so angry, in fact, you march right to the source of your anger, and approach him calmly and in a pleasant fashion.

“I heard you’re both going to the LOLAR show!” You smile and take a seat at the bar in Nitram Sweets.

“Uh, yeah, I thought it’d be a fun experience, y’know? I’m making a new friend.” Tavros smiles and shrugs at you, and you grit your teeth quietly.

“I see. Well, I’m happy for you Tavros.” You try not to twitch with anger, putting your hands in the front pocket of your dress, grasping two LOLAR tickets that, coincidentally, aren’t Tavros’s.

“Well, uh, thanks. Do you need anything?” He asks, sweet as ever, which to you is the opposite of what you want out of him.

“...That.” You point at a carrot cake, sighing. You need some comfort.

“Alright.” He gets the knife and is about to slice it--

“No. The whole thing.” For a moment, you can’t believe you’re doing this, but--damn, do you need it.

“Uh, sure, right away.” Tavros wheels off into the back to get a cake box. For a few moments, you are left alone.

You sneak around the counter on your tip-toes, looking in drawers and cabinets for anything that could help you. You don’t know why or how this sudden urge to sabotage Tavros’s plans came up, but you can’t seem to stop it.

You lift a pile of papers--and spot Tavros’s tickets. You can hear his wheelchair coming down the hallway, and a moment stretches on forever as you think to yourself:

[Do I take them, or do I be a good friend?]

You weigh the scales and the outcomes, and drop the papers back where they were. Who cares? It’s just a boy that’s not worth fighting over. It’s definitely not worth losing your discount at Nitram Sweets.

You hop over the counter just in time for him to come back. He packs up the cake as you blush and try to hide your shame. As he hands you the box, he tilts his head.

“Uh, are you okay, Nepeta?”

“Yes, Tavros...I’m...I’m fine.”

==>NEPETA: BE THE VIOLINIST

Holy SHIT you could not be more excited. You’re standing in line at the FANCIEST fucking concert of all time. You’ve worn your best suit that you can afford--that is, you’re not wearing a suit at all. You look more like you’re dealing cards at a casino somewhere tonight, but that’s not the point. You’re just here to listen and have fun!

In addition, Tavros is in a wheelchair--as he’s always been. You feel guilty for being so happy about it--the fact that he’s handicapped actually allows you better, roomier seats around yourself. You take the fold-out chair handed to you with glee, and seat yourself as the room goes dark. You swear your eyes are glimmering with excitement.

An announcer booms over the loudspeakers.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Alternian Theatre...the one...the only...ROSE LALONDE!” The curtains begin to part, red ones giving way to pink with yellow trims and cyan accents. A fine, colored mist erupts from sprayers on the stage, hiding the violinist as she comes on, holding her cream white instrument in her hands. You stare in awe as she comes on stage, her black hat tilted just right to hide her face from nearly everyone. Black lipstick mingles with the pinks and grays of her dress, giving her an untouchable feel.

Oh god, you are not about to cry.

She raises her bow, putting her violin under her chin, prepared to play a symphony that will blow you away. However, in the dim silence of the moment--

A phone rings. Many people, including you, look around, disgusted at whoever had the audacity to leave their phone on. However, it comes to everyone’s surprise when the violinist herself pulls out a phone and puts her violin into rest position, facing away from the microphone as she spoke to the other side.

She finally turns around and says,

“I am incredibly sorry.” She walks away from the microphone, leaving the entire audience stunned as light after light goes up, and the woman disappears behind the curtain. You look over to Tavros, slackjawed as he tries to figure out a way to explain it or reassure you. You don’t want reassurance, though.

You storm out of the theatre, Tavros’s wheelchair nowhere near being able to keep up with you. You can hear him call out to you as you throw the theatre doors open, taking off your tie and pocketing it. You wish you could have a drink, but you’re just the slightest bit too young--and you storm off to your apartment.

The place is messy and not at all attractive. Newspapers litter the floor where carpet has given way to stone, and only a few small lamps light up the room. Your violin sits beside your bed, and other than a computer, a closet, and a music stand, you don’t have much.

You flop down onto your bed, which creaks violently as you do so. Your rage fades away and gives way to guilt as you realize you literally left Tavros in the dust. You don’t remember how much time you spend in your bed, but when you get up to prepare some sort of tea, it’s already light outside.

You stand on your apartment’s balcony, watching the city traffic go by. You spot a couple walking with their child, the little boy holding a balloon in his hand as he goes along. They look happy--loving, even. You’re sure the kid is spoiled rotten. The parents must adore him so much and--

You go inside and shut the door, sighing as you set your tea down and retreat back into your bed. You don’t care if you have to go play to eat again--you’re just not ready to head back out there, and you won’t be for a while.


	9. Pink Shells

Pink Shells

==> VRISKA: BE ENRAGED

“He did WHAT?!” You sit on the counter of your dimly lit store in the middle of the night. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Dirk sits across from you, an empty seat next to him as he waited for Jake. You would rather he not come, but you know you and Dirk have a deal.

“Yeah, said he didn’t want a gay son.”

“Oh fuck that, I’d adopt you—if I had the money.”

“Thanks, Vris.”

You sit back on the counter, picking out yet another lollipop—electric blue and coated in sour crystals. You loved these things to death, even when they burned your mouth raw. As you lean back, you see a figure moving outside—but pay no mind. Those who roamed Paris freely at night were common, especially when the place was so damn well-lit.

“I’ll…see what I can do to talk to him—“

“Bad idea. He’d find out who, where, when, and what.”

“…True.” You nod. You really need to consider these things before you of that. “I could pose as a social worker and sit him down.”

“He’d probably see through you in a second.”

“I’m not so sure.” You pop the sucker out of your mouth with an actual ‘pop’ following it. “I mean, I’ve faked a lot of roles in the past.” You pause as you remember something—and bite down into your lollipop so hard you crack it into a million little pieces. You remove the bare stick and let the candy melt.

“…Worth a shot, but let’s wait.”

“Speaking of waiting, where the fuck is your British One Direction boyfriend?”

“Shut up, he’s…he’s comin’.” Dirk seems flustered by the comment, and you laugh a bit. Really, though, you can see the concern in his face as he checks his phone. Jake should have been here by now, and you now the only way to get Dirk to really express an emotion physically is to get his boyfriend involved.

In order not to pressure him, you tilt your head towards the window again—and see the same shadow peering inside.

“One sec.” You approach the door and open it. The shadow rushes over—it’s a young girl with blonde hair, but she’s as tall as you are. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“Awwwh, what? C’mon, I’ve been needin’ some sugar all day!” The girl’s words slur slightly between her pauses. She gives you a sad look. “C’mooon, I’m all alone out here!” She whines a bit.

“As long as you’re buying something, I guess. Sorry, Dirk.” You call the last bit over your shoulder as the girl comes in. She heads immediately for the sweet sweets (as opposed to your more famous sour sweets.

You fondly recall the Sunday contest this week, which is always based around one of your candies. The challenge was to (buy and) eat as many Lip-pucker Lemons as possible before crying uncle. You came close to winning yourself (and thereby the 20 euro prize) but instead got beat out by a woman your own age who adored fruit flavored candy. Harley, her name was. Damn her lemon-y tastes.)

“Who’s she?”

“Customer.” You say, but are quickly corrected.

“I’m Roxy Lalonde—and don’tcha forget it! Well, the Roxy part. Since technically I’m also Rox E.” Roxy nods at this, looking up in pensive thought. “Heard of me? Well, prolly not…” She sighs, and goes back to perusing the Punch Peaches (Guaranteed to sweeten your stomach with a suckerpunch from a sucker!)

Dirk speaks up.

“I’ve heard of you.”

“HWAAAAAT.” Roxy toddles over, looking him dead in the shades. “Really?!”

“Yeah, I’m more of a rap kinda guy, but your music is…soulful, I guess.”

“Well, I do try.” She waves her hand, blushing. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, it’s no problem—I think you’d really be able to get out there.”

“Yeah, if she used her last name.” You say.

“Huh?” Dirk says back.

“Roxy Lalonde? C’mon, kid, put two and two together.” You sigh and lean forward, hopping off the counter to grab a Punch Peach. “Rose Lalonde’s tickets for her latest concert—which turned out to be a flop—cost $500 dollars if you were lucky. Lalonde is such a huge fucking name in the music industry that if you so much as have “La”whatever in your name, deals flock your way.”

“…How’d ya know so much about my mom?” Roxy questions.

“Maryam has her on in the shop all the time. I go there during lunch breaks.”

“Who?”

“Merry Maryam’s?”

“Ohhhh!”

“…My name’s Dirk, nice to meet you.” Dirk says to Roxy, sighing as he hangs up his phone. “Jake says something happened. He won’t be able to come tonight, even if he begged his mom. Something isn’t right, but he won’t tell me what.”

“Bet he has good reasons.” You sigh, grabbing a plastic bag and gathering up orange gummies and some green sour melon candies. “Here, take ‘em for free. You deserve ‘em.”

“Awww, got stood up?” Roxy sits next to him. “I gotcha. Let’s hang out instead.” She smiles, a hand on his knee. You smile too, a bit amused by it all.

==>VRISKA: BE THE SKULLGUY

Your name is Jake English and you’re listening in on the other line with your side muted.

The phone is pressed up so hard against your ear that it leaves red indentations in your skin, but at the same time, you need to hear every word. Your mother seems distressed and surprised, even more so than when Jane first went missing.

“I still can’t believe you called me…”

“You’re the only person I could call.” Says the other voice. “I don’t have any family.”

“It’s your one call—listen…just…tell me the address again, and I’ll get you out of there as soon as I can. I cannot believe they’re trying to pin it all on you, and…and the trial is in a week? Oh…”

You look back at your own phone, seeing the disappointed texts of Dirk. You snapchat him a picture of you on the phone.

“Mom is freaking out, I think someone we know is in jail.”

You catch a name.

“…Aradia.” You send another picture, just your somber face. Your phone buzzes, and you read Dirk’s reply:

“Well, shit.”

==>JAKE: BE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

You hear something on the police blotter.

Something disconcerting.

“Street performer found dead in library.”

“Goddamnit.” You snuff out a cigarette and adjust your mirror as you drive through the streets. You’re not paid enough to be part of this gang—but maybe you’ll be paid more, since he’s out of the picture.


	10. Investigation ~ Opening 2013

Investigation ~ Opening 2013

==> ARADIA: BE THE PRISONER

            “I’m so, so, so sorry, Jade.”

            “It’s alright, really—”

            “No, no it’s not!” You tense up and tears begin to roll down your face as the weight of the situation all comes crashing down on you. “First I… I just come into your life, I was supposed to be a good friend, or at least normal, and I end up getting your son’s boyfriend beaten and thrown out of his own home, and then I end up in here—” You suddenly turn to her, choking back the tears for a minute. “…You don’t think I did it, did you?” You sniffle.

            “I…” Jade takes a breath and takes off her glasses for a moment. “It’s complicated, Aradia. I… I have faith that you didn’t do it, but…”

            “So you do think I did! Oh, Christ…” You feel the tears coming back.

            “I’m sorry, Aradia, we haven’t known each other long, and I want to trust you—I swear, I really do! And if the evidence points that way… then I will.” She nods. “Just… know you have my support. I’m not rooting for you to be a murderer here.”

            “…Right.” You take a deep breath and calm yourself down, wiping away the tears with a handily-placed box of tissues on this side of the visiting screen.

            “Just take me through what happened. Tell me everything…” Jade requests. You have no reason not to tell her.

==>ARADIA: TELL THE STORY IN PRESENT TENSE

            “Now just make sure that when you’re done, you set the alarm and lock the doors, sweetie.” Callie handed you the keys, and then began her trek to her car, where her husband was waiting.

            “Of course, Miss Ohpeee. I’ll make sure, don’t worry!” Another one of your late night history binges—along with reading some dating advice, researching LGBTQIA+ centers for Dirk and Jake, and generally just trying to get enough money from another published article. So much stress was placed on you, but you were ready to tackle it.

            Having frequented the library so much, the librarian noticed you would nearly be there from the minute she opened to the minute she closed. After being such a kind and talkative patron, she decided to give you the ability to visit whenever you wanted. All you had to do at the end of the night—or morning—was to hide the keys outside and e-mail her where they were that day. After all, nobody would really need to steal from a library. All you have to do is just ask to borrow books, anyhow.

            The cool stillness of the library, coupled with the piles of books around you, was enthralling. As you continued to examine the book in front of you on the development of sex and sexuality throughout the 19th century, you make notes on a separate pad of paper. Chapters fly by as you skim for important points and relevant information—and of course, cross-check this book with others through the hours.

            You’re about halfway into skimming through your first book when there’s suddenly an opening of the library doors. You haven’t locked them. You calmly get up to go and tell them that the library is indeed closed.

            “Excuse me,” You call out, looking around to try and see where the new patron has entered. Your heart starts beating a little faster. You’re alone with nobody else here in a large and maze-like library. “But the library is actually closed, so if you could just—“

            You turn the corner just in time for the alarm to go off.

            In the chair in the kid’s section near the back entrance, there is a bloody body with a gushing stab wound in its chest, leaking red blood all over the stuffed puppets used for storytime. The man’s messy black hair and clown paint on his face are in stark contrast to the deadness of his eyes… The door shuts—and you run to it, screaming for your life. You do trip over the scattered puppets, however, hitting a puddle of blood from where the body was dragged in. Try as you might, the door will not open for you—the alarm system has set the library on lockdown. You kick with your heels, bang on the door—

            But you fall through once it opens, and your hands are placed behind your back. Someone is reading you your Miranda rights, and handcuffs are put in place. You cry out of frustration and struggle some, as your right heel has fallen off, and you’re stuffed into the back of a police cruiser.

==>ARADIA: BACK TO THE PRESENT

            “…And that’s how it happened.”

            “…I’ll take your word for it, Aradia. I just… I hope that everyone else does as well.”

            “…Of course.”

            “Visitng hours are almost over, Aradia. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Is there anything you’d want?”

            “Can you bring me books? Reading is… calming.”

            “Of course. I will.”

==>ARADIA: BE THE PROSECUTOR

            “So our suspect… came out of the murder scene, where an alarm was tripped, after-hours and covered in blood.”

            “Yes, Mz. Pyrope.”

            “…Christ.” You adjust your glasses and sigh. “Who’s the victim?”

            “Reports say he was a street performer,” Your heart sinks. No, it couldn’t be. “A lovable oaf whose mind wandered a bit much. Could be he got involved in gang activity—“

            “What’s the NAME, detective.”

            “…Gamzee Makara. You know, Mz. Pyrope, I really don’t appreciate that… tone…” He stops as you visibly slump, then sit down in your office chair, turning around in grief. Your heart starts to hurt a bit. He certainly was a lovable oaf—and now someone’s gone and killed him. You choke back a few tears. It seems like everyone you take a liking to ends up in your reports somehow.

            “Detective.” You regain your composure and turn around. “I’m glad you’ve taken the time out of your busy schedule to see me about this murder, and I’m glad the city has chosen me for this job. Please continue your investigation. In the meantime, if you have any news about this… Aradia Megido, then please do inform me. I’ll be doing research of my own as well. Remember, we are not enemies.”

            “Of course not, Mz. Pyrope.”

            “We’re just trying to find the truth—and of course… you know how splendid I am at that.” Your grin grows slowly. You’ll bring this Megido to justice, no matter the cost—for both her and myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize! It's been over a year at this point. I just finished up my senior year of high school and my first semester of college. But now, it's time to finally get this story wrapped up...


	11. Candles and Clockwork

Candles and Clockwork

ARADIA==>BAWL YOUR EYES OUT.

            Oh no, you’ve been doing that quite a while already. You’re so frightened of absolutely everything. It feels like it’s been ages since you were put into jail. You know you haven’t done anything with this street performer, but it isn’t what scares you at all.

            Rather, what really scares you is who’s going to know, who’s going to see… you might never get an article published in the country again. You might not even be able to live here anymore. Being associated with murder, even in the slightest, could tarnish everything you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

            It’s a relief when Jade finally comes in again.

            “Thank you so, so much…” You begin, but she cuts you off.

            “Of course. I… I know you don’t have anyone else here.” She shakes her head. “And after what you did for Dirk, I knew I had to come see you again, at least. Don’t worry. I don’t think you did anything. I’ll keep coming back, of course.”

            “Thank you.” You repeat, wiping your eyes with the heel of your palm. “…I’m just so worried. Everything is going to come to light.”

            “…You don’t mean you did it?”

            “No, no! It’s… something entirely different, Jade. I’ve been trying to put it behind me this whole time, but it’s…”

            “It’s what?”

            “I… can’t talk about it here.” You gather yourself. “How’s Jake?”

            “He’s been sad ever since the incident with Dirk. But it’ll be okay, because we’re keeping Dirk with us for now. Jake feels a bit better that way.” Jade smiles. “After all, who wouldn’t, with their partner under the same roof?”

            “You’d… be surprised.” You sigh. Mentally, you slap yourself. You need to stop being so cryptic. “But other than that, I’m glad. I’m still so sorry about outing him like that…”

            “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s more common to be open about it these days, but some people are still… Dave.”

            “And the worst part is, I thought he was… a pretty okay guy! I mean, he looked nice, he had good jokes…” You shake your head and rest your chin in your hands.

            “I know. I’ll talk with him about it later, don’t worry. But… until then, just try not to worry, okay?” Jade smiles at you with her two buck teeth and those beautiful green eyes. You feel something in your stomach settle just right.

            “I’ll try.”

ARADIA==>BE THE LAWYER.

            You’re doing some extra research on your newest case. You feel as though there’s a strong tie to a series of murders that have been occurring lately. Seemingly, it’s some of the best leads in the city. Reservoirs of gossip and hearsay struck down in an instant. And this time, it was personal.

            When you heard Gamzee was dead, you’re ashamed to say you didn’t cry. You hardly flinched. You just grumbled “damnit” and sulked. But after being in the business so long, especially with your mother and all of these other cases, you’ve learned to… distance yourself emotionally.

            That’s why you’re digging up the freshest dirt on this suspect. If she had anything to do with his murder, she would find it. The only problem is, you’re not finding anything past a fairly recent year. Papers, articles, interviews, sure… but none of them tell you anything about where she came from, what she does… At least, not up front.

            You start to read the articles a little more in-depth.

            “So where are you from, Miss Megido?” An interviewer asked her.

            “Oh, just a little town in Germany. You probably haven’t heard of it, but it’s near Berlin!”

            “You certainly don’t sound German.”

            “My parents moved here from the states when I was younger. But I’ve always considered Germany my home.”

            You look at another article.

            “So, why don’t you tell us about how your life influenced your career choice and some of your more stunning findings? What made you want to focus your research in France?”

            “When I was younger, I loved digging things up in the backyard. Mostly, it was bottle caps, chicken bones, maybe a plastic bag… but when I was digging is when I felt the most at home with myself. When my parents moved to Germany, I wasn’t allowed to do that, since the new lawn was so… nice. It’s why I never really felt at home there…”

            You stop. That sure is odd. In one article but a month before the other, she called Germany her home. In the next, she called her home in the states her true home. It was… small, but it was something to work off of.

TEREZI==>BE A GUY ON JURY DUTY.

            Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and you’ll be fucked if you weren’t summoned for jury duty today. You suppose it’s better than not doing anything at all, but it was your one day off. Unfortunately, this will probably go on longer than just a day. You might have to cancel some gigs.

            When you start looking into what case you might be overseeing, you see a woman by the name of Aradia Megido. Her face is bright and smiling in the picture, taken from an archaeological journal. In that moment, you feel a twinge of empathy for her. There’s no way she murdered someone… But you suppose you’ll just have to see.

KARKAT==>BE AN ANGRY VIDEO GAME NERD.

            Weary from coding, you look towards your web browser for any bit of entertainment. The news pops up, and you see a face that has been plastering the news for hours. Long, black hair and brown eyes. You find her rather pretty—but not quite as pretty as Feferi, anyhow. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you just… really like that face, for some reason. It’s a good face.

            “Sollux?” Feferi’s voice calls from the bedroom. “It’s three in the morning…”

            “I’m coming.” You call back. You take a moment to yawn before changing into more comfortable pajama clothes. You slip under the covers quietly, trying not to disturb her too much.

            “Sollux? Are you awake?”

            “I just got here?” You reply a little hastily. She seems a little put off by it.

            “Do you think… that things last forever?”

            “Well,” you begin. “It depends on whether we’re talking, like, in a meaningful way, or a temporal way, or even a materialistic way, ‘cause the answer is usually no, and—”

            You’re cut off by hearing a sound of her sniffling.

            “…You okay?”

            “No.” She whimpers. You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never been sure what to do when she’s sad. You try to do what comes to mind, and you wrap an arm around her.

            “…If you mean… about you, then no.” You feel bad saying it, but you know better than to lie to her just to be sickly-sweet. “But your experiences, the things you do and how you do them, that’s forever.” You start stroking her hair, and her shoulders stop heaving as much. “It’s… how much you put into life. As long as you keep putting in, you’ll get stuff out.”

            You two lay together in the bed for a long time. You’re both still awake, and she’s feeling better.

            “…I think I want to quit being a developer.” You mumble.

            “What?” She turns around. “But… it’s your dream, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah, but all the stuff I just said… I’m… it’s not a good fit for me. I’m alone and away from people almost all the time, and I’m agitated and depressed ninety-nine percent of the time… it can’t be good for me. I should do something else. Maybe go back to school. I dunno.”

            “I… don’t know what to say to that, but… if it makes you happy, I think it’s good for you.”

            You can both feel something click between you, and the atmosphere relaxes. Feferi melts into the sheets with a sigh.

            “Yeah,” you reply. “I think you’re right.”


End file.
